


Bitten

by Zoe__eoZ



Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: Amputation, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Bromance, Explicit Language, Friendship, Gen, Pain, Physical Abuse, Sharks, Tears, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:20:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26652835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoe__eoZ/pseuds/Zoe__eoZ
Summary: JJ feels safest on the water, away from his abusive dad, and in the company of his best friend, John B.But then, one morning, a shark attacks them and suddenly they're fighting for their lives, and nothing is safe anymore.
Relationships: JJ/John B. Routledge, JJ/Kiara/John B. Routledge, JJ/Pope (Outer Banks), Kiara & Pope (Outer Banks)
Comments: 31
Kudos: 97





	1. Attack

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there.
> 
> Thanks for checking this out.
> 
> After writing a story about an unfortunate jellyfish encounter, I decided to go with a shark next. (Maybe there'll be a stingray fic coming after this one here. Who knows. lol)
> 
> This will be a tad heavier on the "suffering" scale. It'll focus primarily on JJ and John B, with the other Pogues making appearances in following chapters.
> 
> Warnings apply for explicit language, mentions of JJ's abuse, and loads of pain and blood and such. This little fic will put these boys through the wringer, and I'm not sure they'll both come out with all body parts still attached ...
> 
> Hope you'll enjoy this.

...

JJ is panting, his arms on fire after hours of surfing. But this is the good kind of pain, the one that masks everything else. Plus, he's safe out here on the water, the only place where his father can't get him.

When he's finally far enough out again, past the shorebreak, he sits up on his board, taking in the view. It's an amazing feeling. The water underneath, the beach in the distance, a calm spreads in him that he only ever experiences out here.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

John B appears beside him. Straddling his board, he's looking out toward the beach as well. No one else is out here yet. It's early, during school hours, so Pope and Kie are still being good students, learning, while John B is keeping JJ company. Because of course he knows last night was rough. It's not like there's any hiding the split lip, and honestly? Since it's just John B out here, JJ didn't bother putting on a rash guard to hide the bruises. Not like his friend hasn't seen it all before.

John B smiles at him, and JJ smiles right back. Because it _is_ beautiful. And he's so fucking glad to be out on the water, despite his exhausted arms that'll surely be useless for the next few days.

They sit like that for a while, just taking it all in, and for once he doesn't mind the silence, doesn't feel the need to make anyone laugh.

Then, John B jerks his head in the direction of an oncoming wave.

"You wanna go for another round?"

JJ grins.

"Think your arms can take it, JB?"

His friend laughs, rolling his eyes.

"Hell ye—"

What follows happens so fast that JJ doesn't quite comprehend what's going on until John B has already slipped off his board with a loud splash, his arms struggling up again, trying to grab the board. His wide eyes are staring up at JJ with something like pure panic, and a sudden ripple of fear runs up JJ's spine.

"JB, what—"

Despite not knowing what's going on, he lets himself roll off his board to see if John B needs help. Maybe he has a cramp or … ( _No, that doesn't make sense. They've all had cramps before, and it doesn't ever look like this …_ )

As JJ's tired arms plow through the water, trying to get to his friend, he sees John B bob up before he gets pulled into the depth below so abruptly that JJ forgets to breathe. A second later, the water turns an awful shade of pink, and it's then that JJ finally realizes what's going on.

Cold panic grips him.

Somehow a shark has found its way this close to their beach, and it's taken a bite out of his best friend. JJ doesn't think. He dives into the water, trying to see. The ocean is a whirl of foam and bubbles around him, until he can just so make out John B's wild curls, mouth open in a silent scream as the large, lithe fish has its teeth clamped into his leg.

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck …_

JJ's heart is thumping harder than it's ever done before. Not even the fear of his own dad has ever made him feel like this, the adrenaline almost making his vision grow black.

But John B needs him, so he pulls himself together and dives down deeper, tugging at his friend, who's now shaking his head at him, his lips forming a frantic "No."

JJ's running out of air, buoyancy pushing him up, and when John B shakes him off, JJ finds himself shooting up toward the surface and taking a gasping breath, his ears ringing.

John B's head comes back up soon after, and for a moment, relief washes over JJ. Maybe it's over.

But then John B starts screaming, screaming so desperately that JJ's blood curdles.

"It's a fucking shark, JJ! Get on your board," John B manages to choke out eventually, but JJ can't do that. He can't just turn his back on his best friend and let him get eaten alive. He has to do something. He has to get him out of here. Thinking on the spot, he swims over to where he sees John B's board floating idly in the waves, closer than his own. He pulls himself up on it, his arms shaking with the strain. Then he puts all his strength into reaching his friend.

"JJ, go!"

"Hang in there, bro! Almost there! If it comes for you again, you gotta try and punch it in the nose!" he yells as John B throws his head back, trying to kick out at whatever is underneath him.

"Don't!" John B shakes his head, imploring JJ to stay the hell away. But of course he's not listening. He's with his friend in seconds, feeling an eerie boiling underneath the water where the shark is still not letting up.

JJ stares at John B briefly, his poor friend barely able to keep himself steady and above water as the beast keeps tearing at him.

"It's gonna rip my leg off!" There's a desperate disbelief visible in John B's features, and following a sudden impulse, JJ dives down. John B keeps yelling out for him from above, but soon the sound gets too muffled and JJ finds himself in the middle of a cauldron.

He's either going to die down here himself or save John B. It's one or the other, and right now, he has no fucking idea what it'll be.

As his vision sharpens the slightest bit, he's finally able to make out the blurry shape of the large fish, its terrible jaws embedded in John B's leg right above the knee. How his friend is able to withstand that, how he hasn't passed out yet, is beyond JJ.

Not that he has time to contemplate the thought. Quickly, he makes a fist and slams it right against the shark's sensitive nose. Instantly, the animal lets go of John B, and JJ screams out his victory, bubbles rising out of his mouth.

Then, pushing himself back above water, he swims closer to John B, grabs him by the waist and pulls him up.

"Come on, man," he hisses when his head is back above water. "We gotta get the hell outta here."

"Shit …" A low groan escapes John B. He's barely able to help JJ as he pushes him up onto his board. "Get … out of the water, J!"

"In a sec, bro. Just, let's get you up here first."

"JJ, there's a fucking shark in the water …"

"Shut up, John B, okay? I know that, alright? I know that." And he does.

He shoves John B up, first one leg, then the other, grimacing when his friend yells out again at the rough touch. There's so much blood—and a good chunk of flesh missing. JJ gags, unable to catch himself.

"Fuck," it escapes him. "Part of you is literally fish food now, bro." He grins at John B, his friend's wide eyes staring at him in a mix of pain and panic, but there's a hint of disbelieving amusement in his expression for a second, too, and JJ'll take it. It gives him hope.

"Let's make sure the same doesn't happen to you," John B presses out before a string of curses leaves his mouth and he clutches the board hard to stay on top of it, but probably also to fight the pain.

JJ is holding on with one hand and swims over to his own board, which has traveled further away.

"Don't bleed out on me, bro, okay?" he says, cursing under his breath because he doesn't know what the hell he should do. Blood is seeping from John B's leg at an alarming rate, and his friend's face is a weird pasty color that makes his freckles stand out more than they ever have. They'll need to stop the bleeding somehow. He needs to get John B back to the beach. But his board is still so far away.

Fuck it. Maybe he should cut his losses and just swim back, pushing John B to shore.

"JJ, watch out!"

He already knows John B's warning comes too late the instant he hears his friend's panicked voice call out. Still, he whirls around, trying to brace himself for the inevitable, for impact, then freezes as he sees a torpedo of gray muscle shooting toward him.

_Oh fuck._

Trying to shield himself, JJ shoves the board with his friend away, hoping the shark and the waves won't jostle John B off. But then he can't really hope or think anymore, because the animal is so fucking close. Curling both hands into fists, he tries to hit the fish on its sensitive nose, but the water is going crazy around him, and the shark too fucking fast and muscular, and after hitting it once, JJ loses all sense of direction as the shark bumps into his side with full force.

The impact rips all air out of his lungs, stunning him. Bubbles rise all around him, a surge pulling him one way, a rolling wave another. He doesn't know which way is up or down anymore. His lungs are burning, in need of oxygen, and he struggles to propel himself upward as best as he can, shooting out of the water to take a gulping breath of air. John B is just a few feet away, yelling something, but all JJ can hear is a loud roaring and then—

A searing white pain shoots into his shoulder with such force that it's crushing him. All of him wants to give up then, curl into a ball and sink down into the depth. But for one brief moment before the water swallows him, his gaze meets John B's again and his panicked pleading look somehow stays with JJ even as he goes down down down, and with a last effort, he throws as many punches as he can, barely registering when the shark finally, finally lets go of him and swims away.

He knows he needs to be fast if he wants to get away. He needs to push himself up and swim to the surface if he wants to live. ( _Does he?)_ If he wants to be able to help John B. ( _He really fucking does_.) But the water has turned into a sluggish mass, and his brain isn't quite functioning anymore. He swallows water as he takes a breath too early, watching as his own blood colors the water around him.

Everything is pain, just that one sensation, worse than anything his dad has ever done to him. Forgotten are the stupid bruises on his abdomen. They're nothing now.

What the hell even happened?

The shark's gotten to him, too, that's what. As the pain in his shoulder turns into a throbbing pulse, he finally manages to get his head back above water, coughing and coughing while he's trying to stay afloat.

"JJ! Bro, you alright? Fuck, oh fuck …"

From somewhere, hands come up to grab him, hold him, and he yells out as they graze his rib cage, only now registering that the shark's gotten him pretty good there too. His entire right side is a mess of blood and pain.

Looking up, he stares right into John B's wide eyes.

"Sorry, bro," he chokes out, "I was…" Yeah, what? "I think I fucked up …"

He grins a bloody grin up at John B, but his friend doesn't reciprocate the expression.

Fuck. Everything hurts. He's so cold all of a sudden. But he needs to get John B back to shore, he remembers that now. So he struggles to get in a position where he can maybe push the stupid surfboard again, only to be gently reprimanded.

"No, JJ. Easy, man. Easy… let's… stop. We need to get you outta the water before it comes back. We gotta get your board …"

 _It_. The shark …

A shiver rakes his frame as John B tries to pull him up. It hurts too bad.

"I can't." A strange sobbing noise makes its way out of him. He almost wants to apologize for it, berating himself for being unable to pull himself together.

"You have to. Come on, bro. We'll do it together and then we'll get the hell out of here."

Heaving in ragged breaths, JJ coughs again, his head falling on John B's board, and he tries to cling to it with the one arm that'll still obey him, while John B keeps holding on to him desperately.

* * *

...

John B takes a shuddering breath.

"Okay," he mutters. "Okay. I gotchu, JJ. I gotchu, bro."

Does he, though? His arms are shaking with the strain of keeping JJ from slipping into the water. His leg is killing him—probably quite literally going by the amount of blood seeping out of it and into the ocean. And he's not the only one bleeding anymore. JJ … John B averts his gaze, unable to look at his bro's torn open side. If he's extra lucky, all their blood mixed together will attract other sharks or guide just the one back to their position. He better hurry the hell up. He needs to get JJ out of the water.

"We should probably take a break from surfing for a while, huh, JJ?"

His attempt at banter falls on deaf ears, not that that's surprising. Poor JJ is looking worse than he's ever seen him before, and that's saying something because Luke Maybank treats his son like a fucking punching bag. "Come on, man, talk to me."

When JJ remains too quiet, desperation takes over again, and John B has to force himself to take a few deep breaths. In and out, not looking at anything for a moment or two. Eventually, he gets himself enough under control again that he can think.

Licking his lips, he risks a glance down his leg, trying not to look too closely for fear of passing out. JJ relies on him after all, so he can't afford to lose consciousness. —Which also means he needs to do something about JJ's and his bleeding.

With a shaky hand he pulls out the straps of his shorts' waistband, then uses them as a tourniquet of sorts for his mangled leg, gritting his teeth as he goes about his work. Once done, he leans over and does the same for JJ. Except, it's not easy to bind off the arm since the shoulder is a mess, too. Bile rises in his throat at the sight, and he clenches his jaw even harder to keep it together.

JJ gives a soft moan under the touch, the only indication that he's even still alive.

"Hey, JJ … Talk to me, man. JJ?"

But there's no answer. John B tries not to despair. At least they haven't been attacked again, which is good, because JJ is still half in the water. He tries to pull him up even higher, until the board begins to shake dangerously. Then he uses his free arm to steer them toward JJ's abandoned surfboard, which is obliviously bobbing in the waves not too far from where they are. Still, it takes him forever to reach it. By the time they finally make it over there, JJ's eyes have glazed over and his breaths are coming in short, alarming bursts. The searing feeling in his own leg has taken up a prominent spot in his consciousness, making it hard to focus.

"Gotta get you on the board, J," he says, gently slapping his best friend's cheek when he doesn't get a reaction. "Come on, man. Help me here."

Finally, JJ lifts his head, the small motion visibly exhausting him, and John B tightens his grip on him, his face scrunching up at seeing JJ like this. Looking around him, he makes sure there's no traitorous motion underneath the water. He doesn't trust the eerie calm. That shark is probably still doing its rounds, biding its time. Scanning the horizon next, he hopes to see some motion there, maybe Kie and Pope are already out to join them, or some other random beach walkers. Hell, he'd even take some stupid Kooks right about now.

But he's out of luck. The beach looks deserted. So he tries to steal himself for this next part as best as he can. He'll have to get JJ up on his surfboard, and he knows it's not going to be easy or pretty.

"JJ. Hey." He nudges him, just a little, panicking again when the boy barely reacts. JJ is shaking, though, so hard that his teeth are chattering, and only once he's noticed that does John B realize he's shaking just as much.

Shock.

Fuck. They really need to get out of the water.

"You gotta help me out, man. I can't do this alone."

Holding onto JJ's surfboard with one hand, John B grabs him by his left arm—the one that doesn't look like minced meat—and pulls at it.

"JJ, come on. I'll try and help you up, but I need you to work with me. Please, JJ. _Please_ ..."

* * *

...

JJ looks up, the pure desperation in John B's tone making him a little more alert again.

"K," he manages, although that's a complete lie and they both know it. He's unable to move even one fucking muscle in his damn body. But for John B, he'll try anyways. Swallowing down any attempt at complaining—even though he really feels like it—he smiles a crooked smile up at his best friend. His throat feels raw from the salt water he ingested earlier and then violently coughed out. His shoulder and side feel like they aren't quite attached anymore, and he's so fucking cold. He really wants to pull a Jack Dawson and let go and be done with this shit. ( _And, why yes, that's a fucking Titanic reference. Just don't tell John B about it._ )

But he can't do that. Heaving in a breath, he therefore forces himself to look John B directly in the eyes and try to convey determination. There's so much worry in his friend's gaze, panic, and pain that JJ knows he can't give up on him. He can't just leave him to figure this out on his own, or worse, die out here alongside JJ. So he forces himself to lift his head and give the smallest of nods. Better than nothing.

"'K," he murmurs again, then lets his gaze wander, trying to gauge how far away the surfboard is. Two or three swim strokes, perhaps? Yeah, he won't be able to do that, not even just one; he'll have to try and keep afloat long enough to be able to grab and hold onto his surfboard, and go from there. At least that way John B will have more room again, and a better chance to steer his board toward the beach. The beach that suddenly seems so much further away now ...

Closing his eyes, he uses his left arm to propel himself forward, a half jump of sorts that thankfully lets him grapple with the other board before he has a chance to go under.

"JJ! What the fuck, man?!" John B's panic-laced holler sounds almost shrill. A second later, his friend is in the water with him, pulling him up at the same moment JJ realizes he can't hold on anymore. He'd have sunken like a fucking rock and drowned.

"Don't do that, man. What the fuck was that?"

"'M sorry," he slurs, trying to grin at John B. But he's not sorry, not really. It even feels kind of nice to be able to lean his head against his friend, feel a warm body close to his own too cold one. He's not alone, at least. He's not alone ...

"Pull yourself up. I'll try and get your legs," John B says, pulling him back before he can drift off into a spiral of weird thoughts, and he tries to, he really does, but there's not a speck of strength left in him now.

"Fuck, JJ, please. You gotta get up there …"

JJ sighs, his breath leaving him in short, exhausted bursts, but John B keeps pleading with him through real, actual sobs, and something about that just doesn't seem okay at all. John B rarely ever cries like that, so JJ finally manages to harness his last bit of survival instinct and begins heaving himself up onto his board one inch at a time.

John B pushes him simultaneously, thankfully avoiding JJ's burning arm and shoulder. And somehow—he has no idea how—he eventually makes it all the way up, his raw skin scraping over the rough board. The pain in his body is mercilessly pulsing as he collapses gracelessly, his cheek connecting with the cool surface.

"You're good, man. You made it. We'll… we'll get you outta here now, yeah?"

JJ chuckles, the sound breaking off at the end. "How?" is all he can ask, not expecting an answer, not really expecting anything anymore. He's so done. So cold …

"I'll get us to shore, somehow. You just … hang in there. But you need to stay awake, alright? Come on, JJ. JJ."

It's so difficult to focus, to listen. The water is so close, sloshing around him, lulling him down a dark spiral, the beach slowly fading away, John B's voice …

"JJ!"

A slap against his cheek makes him blink. John B's face is right above him, or maybe beside him, his sense of direction is kind of screwed. Frowning, he tries to pull himself up a little, failing miserably. The touch of his best friend's hand against his back feels strangely nice and warm, and he almost comments on that, a half-smile spreading on his face. But no words will come and he's so exhausted—

"Bro. JJ! Don't pussy out on me now, man, you can't do that. You can't ..."

"Leave me alone, JB. So tired …"

"Fuck, no. JJ."

He tries to turn his head, watching John B's one arm dipping in and out of the water, the other … clutching him. As JJ looks on, his gaze begins to blur over, and he blinks, once, twice.

This is almost … nice. He's on the water, John B is with him … He isn't even all that cold anymore. The sun on his back feels kinda good. Hot …

"Stay with me, man. JJ. Look at me … JJ!"


	2. Scream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with a second chapter. We'll see where I'll be taking this. I have half a thought of turning this into something longer. Definitely another two chapters after this one here, though.
> 
> It's heavy on the angst.
> 
> Thanks for reading. :)

…

"Think they're still out there?"

Pope grins over at Kie, kicking up sand as he makes his way toward the beach with her. They're both ready to give their friends a bit of a hard time for skipping school. But mostly, they're just desperate to join them. And Pope … is also desperate for Kie. But that's another story.

Kie chuckles and he tries not to stare. Adjusting her grip on her board, she looks up at him, giving an emphatic nod.

"If we don't make them leave and grab some grub, they'll probably stay here until dinner time …" She trails off, her body tensing.

When Pope turns to follow her gaze, he makes a face when he spots what she's already seen.

"Is that—"

"Sarah Cameron, yeah," Kie bites out, rolling her eyes at him and he knows better than to ask. It hasn't been all that long since Kie returned from the dark side, from _Kook Kountry._ And while he's not quite clear on the details, he knows that whatever happened during her time away from the Pogues, it's got something to do with Sarah, the 'Kook princess.' They were inseparable for a while there, but quite clearly, things didn't end well between them. Pope never asked and he's not going to now, but part of him is curious regardless.

"Let's just pretend we didn't see them and—"

"Hey, Kiara! So, you hanging with the trash again?" some girl in a yellow sundress he vaguely remembers having seen before calls out, and behind her, Sarah Cameron and her douchy boyfriend Topper turn their heads toward them. Kie meets her former friend's gaze, neither of them saying anything.

"Let's just keep moving, Kie. See how JJ and John B are doing …"

Kie nods slowly, but their path will lead them past the Kooks either way, and Pope holds his breath as they get closer.

"Just ignore them," he says, Kie now awfully quiet beside him, and he hopes there won't be any weird scene, not when JJ and John B aren't here for backup.

Yet sure enough, once they're almost past the Kooks, Topper hops off the fallen tree he's been sitting on and blocks their way.

"Not so fast."

* * *

…

"JJ? JJ ..." An anguished sound leaves John B, something he has no control over. The excruciating sensation in his leg doesn't help. It's threatening to make him black out, but he can't. He can't …

"JJ, come on, man."

They've almost made it past the surf. He has no idea how, with the waves crashing into them mercilessly, foaming white and alive, and so fucking strong. But they're almost at the beach now, almost out of the damn water. He hasn't let go of JJ the whole time, and he won't. It's his responsibility to make sure JJ doesn't die out here, doesn't drown or bleed out or get eaten. It's his job as JJ's best friend, plus, no one else is out here, no one but them.

No one to help.

The water is growing quieter, the waves smaller here, almost soothing him with their soft noise. Normally, he'd hop off the board and carry it now. But he's not sure he can stand.

So how is he going to get JJ to the beach and off the board and to the van and …

A sob makes its way past his lips, choking him, and he bites down hard, again and again and again, his jaw muscles dancing as he fights to keep it together, keep the noise down.

He tries to breathe, his heart thumping like a hammer against his rib cage, and when he looks again, JJ's board is softly bumping into his. They're even closer to shore, thankfully, he just doesn't know how.

Did he lose a few seconds?

A surge of fresh adrenaline pumps through him in surges and he tries to raise himself up a bit on his board, his hand leaving JJ's back and going to his neck. There. A thready pulse under his fingers lets him know that JJ is still with him, and a shiver of relief rakes through him, jostling his torn leg so much he stifles a yell.

When he's sure he's got himself back under control, he tells JJ, "Hang in there, JJ, okay?"

Then he presses his lips together and tears his gaze away from his best friend to gauge how far the beach is. It's really not that far anymore. When he reaches down into the water his hand can touch the sand underneath.

He'll have to get off his board now so he can push JJ to shore.

His teeth are chattering so hard that the sound makes its way into his conscience, and he shakes his head, wet hair flying out of his face. He needs to stop shaking so much. He needs to focus.

Just a bit further. His phone is lying on his beach towel in the sand a little further up. He just needs to reach it and he can finally call for help. (Somewhere in the very back of his mind, a tiny voice tells him he can't be here for when they come to get JJ, or DCS will snatch him away. But it's only there for a second or two before the fear and pain obliterate everything again.)

"JJ?"

The softest whimper passes his friend's lips, the sound so uncharacteristic, so vulnerable that John B's throat closes. He ruffles JJ's hair.

"I know, bro," he mutters, "I know …"

Then he raises his chin, looking straight ahead for a few seconds, forcing himself to take a few deep, deep breaths.

He can do this, he tells himself, then, without giving himself time to chicken out, he lets go of JJ and the board and lets himself roll off and into the ocean. As soon as the water hits his mangled leg, he screams out, and this time, he can't keep the sound in. The salt feels like fire against the raw flesh.

The next thing he knows, he's lying in the water, staring up through a thin film of it, choking on water. With a rush, he pushes himself up and above, gasping, then coughing, his wild eyes scanning his surroundings.

"JJ?"

New panic surges when he can't see his friend right away, but then he sees the two surfboards with their fronts in the sand, the backs still swaying a bit in the water, and he tries to scramble to his feet, stumbling and falling, unable to stand.

His torn leg connects with the sand underneath him, scraping over it as he resigns to dragging himself toward JJ, toward the beach.

When he's finally made it, he half-collapses next to JJ, needing a moment, knowing that he doesn't have one. So he pulls himself up again, and pulls JJ with him toward the towels.

Because he can't carry him and he can't leave him by the water, he pushes him through the sand on the surfboard. Maybe he can use a towel to at least cover JJ once they've reached their things. His best friend is shivering like crazy, but at least that means he's still alive.

"Made it to the beach, J," he cajoles. "We'll get you to a hospital now, yeah? We'll …"

He hits something with the board, so hard he falls over, so hard JJ starts screaming.

"Fuck, I'm sorry, JJ, I'm so sorry …"

He blinks to clear away a yellowish fog that's threatening to cloud the world. Then he crawls to the front of the board, where he can wrap an arm around JJ's good side.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he says, but it fucking isn't, and it couldn't be more obvious.

JJ looks up at him sudenly, conscious for the first time in however long, only to experience what must feel like torture. John B is pretty sure he caught a glimpse of bone and ribs protruding when his gaze grazed JJ's right arm and side.

"Shit, JJ, I'm so sorry, man. I didn't …"

"It hurts, JB …"

"I know, man, I know."

"Hurts so fucking bad."

"I'll get you off the beach, I'll …"

But he can't risk jostling JJ again. He can't put him through that.

"I'll just … go and grab the phone and I'll be right back, yeah?"

JJ's left arm shoots out to grab him before he can begin to raise himself up again. There's a look of pure panic on his best friend's face.

"Don't leave me here, man."

"Course not. I'll just—"

"Please, John B."

"JJ, I just don't wanna hurt you—"

" _Please_ …"

The lump in John B's throat is too large. He can't breathe past it, can't speak. Seeing JJ like this …

"Okay," he eventually manages, holding JJ's desperate gaze. "I'll have to push you again, then. Think you can handle that?"

JJ's nod is almost imperceptible.

Okay, John B thinks, okay. He closes his eyes, stealing himself.

* * *

…

"Did you hear that?"

Kie clutches Pope's arm, staring up at his face with wide eyes. Unaware of the look he shoots her hand on his arm, she listens into the quiet, a weird feeling of unease spreading inside of her.

"Hear what?"

"Did no one else hear that sound? Like a scream?"

Topper points a hand at her and looks back at Sarah and their small group of friends—friends that were Kie's too, not long ago. How long has it been? A couple months perhaps? Crazy how fast things change, crazy, too, how kindly her Pogues welcomed her back. She should have never turned her back on them, not that it had been a conscious decision. Some things just … happen.

"She's trying to distract us, isn't she?"

"Leave it, Topper." Sarah sounds weary. She can't meet Kie's gaze, fumbling instead with the hem of her dress.

"Why? She still owes you an apology. For calling the cops on your party."

"Topper …"

Kie glares at him. He's right of course, but no way in hell is she going to admit it. Letting go of Pope's arm, she takes a few steps toward Topper and raises her chin in defiance.

Before she has a chance to retort, however, there's that sound again, and this time, she's positive it is a scream.

Goosebumps creep up her arms and legs, and she turns her focus away from Topper to clutch at Pope.

"That was JJ." She knows it with such certainty that her heart is about to give out. What on earth would make him scream like that? Like he's being torn in half?

"Oh gosh," Sarah says, her voice shaky as it reaches Kie's ears. "What's going on?"

Something clicks in Kie's brain at the same time as Pope starts running, grabbing her hand in his.

"Let's go!"

They have to hurry. This can't be good. She's never heard anyone scream like that before. Never.

* * *

…

JJ feels like he's fused to the surfboard forever now, because no way in hell will he ever be able to get up off it again. His cheek is part of it already, his head too heavy to lift, and his right side and arm …

Keeping his eyes closed, he takes a shallow breath, trying not to scream again as John B pulls him and the board across the uneven sand, the wobbling making the nauseating pain pulse in his side.

Maybe John B should have left him behind after all, to grab that phone. But … He just can't be alone with this, he can't. So yeah, it's stupid that he prefers this over waiting somewhere where his poor body doesn't have to be jostled so much. But the thought of John B going somewhere without him, even just for a minute or two, scares the crap out of him.

After Luke hurts him, he comes to the Château. It's been like that for almost as long as JJ can remember ( _since his dad turned into such a drunken asshole after his mama's death, but he doesn't want to go there, stuffs that thought right back_ ), so maybe his brain has simply made the connection that John B means calm after the storm, a safe place where he can mend and be okay again.

He's not sure he'll ever be okay again now, though. Not even with John B right here. Because he can't feel his arm anymore, can't turn his head to check if it's still attached, and surely that can't be a good sign. ( _At least that means the pain is gone, too. Well, it's still raging in his shoulder and side, but hey. Can't have it all …_ )

What if … what if they can't save the arm though? Provided they can even save his fucking life? A new wave of panic goes through him at the thought, and he finds himself calling out to John B. As if his friend has all the answers ...

"John B?" His voice doesn't want to obey him. It's nothing but a soft croak. John B will never be able to hear him like that. It's too quiet, his voice, the beach, everything is suddenly so quiet. No one else is here, it's just him and John B and they're so fucked, aren't they? They're never going to make it out of here alive. They're … And now John B is quiet too, can't hear JJ, doesn't know ...

He doesn't realize he's starting to hyperventilate until his body sends out more pain, more nasty stabs with every breath, only making it more impossible to breathe.

Too abruptly, the surfboard stops and he screams again, his arm suddenly the sole fucking focus of his existence, a fire racing through it, so biting that his vision grows red.

"Fuck, JJ!" John B yells at him, his face appearing by JJ's side, the look on it so full of concern that JJ feels the ridiculous urge to laugh. Not that he can. His body isn't doing anything he wants it to anymore. "What can I do? What do you need, JJ?"

Hell if he knows.

"I'm … scared, man."

"I know. But JJ, we almost made it, okay? The towels are right there. I can … I can run over and—"

"You can't fucking run."

John B looks at him a little flustered, his hand coming up to run through his hair.

"I'll get there somehow."

He doesn't want to sound like a crybaby, doesn't want to whine or beg, but … Clutching John B's wrist in a vise, he just stares up at him. _Please don't leave me, man._

"Okay," John B says as if understanding the unspoken plea. Hanging his head, he sighs, with one hand stroking JJ's hair, and JJ can't help but close his eyes and hold onto John B's wrist as the world slowly fades away …

* * *

…

His hand is already grabbing for the phone the second they make it onto the beach, and Pope dials 911 before he's quite understood what he sees in front of him.

There, not too far, are JJ and John B, and something clearly isn't right. JJ is lying motionless on his surfboard, right there in the middle of the beach, and John B is sitting slumped right next to him, his forehead leaning against JJ's

 _"911, what's your emergency?"_ a calm voice asks, and his hand is shaking now, adrenaline making his senses work on overdrive as he runs faster, panting now.

"Uh, my … my friend needs help."

He chases after Kie, who's racing ahead, faster than he's ever seen her run, and she shoots back a brief glance before she accelerates yet again, shooting toward their friends.

He rambles into the phone as he keeps going, then skids to a stop and falls to his knees beside the surfboard JJ is on, Kie already busy trying to assess the situation. Her hands are fluttering over JJ's almost ripped apart body, hovering an inch or so away as if she's too afraid to touch him. When he risks a closer look, he understands why.

And are those … bite marks?

"What happened?" Kie yells, "what the hell happened? JJ? John B? What … JJ, you okay? Oh my gosh, oh my gosh …" Her voice is shaking as she leans over more, kissing JJ's cheek.

"It was a shark, Kie," John B says. Kie's focus shifts to him for a moment, her hands coming up to cup his face as he sobs out the words. His anguish is so palpable goosebumps erupt on Pope's skin. "A fucking shark. I … JJ, he's got … fucking thing got his arm and side. He … he can't die, Kie. He can't die …"

"Shhhh," she makes, suddenly, surprisingly, a lot calmer. And Pope …

 _"Sir?"_ The dispatcher's voice jolts him back. _"An ambulance will be there shortly. I'll stay on the line with you until then."_

"Okay," he hears himself say. Already, he's discarding the phone though, letting it slip into the sand as panic grips him. Because JJ is bleeding out, and John B is sobbing, and Kie is turning to Pope, looking at him as if he knows what to do.

"What do we do, what do we do, what do we do?"

He's vaguely aware of the Kooks showing up beside them, more people asking the same questions, no one having an answer.

What do we do?

For one scary moment, he freezes completely, unable to move, to think.

"JJ! Please don't die on me now, man! Come on. JJ. Please ... "

As he hears John B's desperate cry, something in Pope wakes up again, kick-starts, and he takes a deep breath, then spreads both arms, yelling at everyone to, "Shut up! Shut up, okay? Let me think!"

He doesn't care how they look at him, how the Kook princess hugs herself, how her friend is sobbing into her boyfriend's shirt, or how Topper crosses his arms to glare over. All he cares about now are his friends.

JJ is bleeding out …

"Towels!" he calls out. "Grab the towels! And … belts! Anyone have a belt? Anyone bring any booze?"

"What?" one of the Kooks looks at him with a bewildered frown and Pope stares him down with a hint of annoyance.

"To sterilize the wound!" Dumbass.

"Oh …"

He scoots closer to JJ, exchanging a glance with John B, who's sitting across from him, stroking JJ's hair.

A shark …

He squints at his other friend briefly before someone pushes a bottle of something into his hands and with a quick glance at the label, he trickles its contents over JJ's shoulder.

The ensuing scream is blood curdling, and Pope finds himself being yelled at by Kie, by the Kooks, by John B, the latter's fist shooting toward him without warning, connecting with his nose before Kie can pull their enraged friend away.

"Ow, fuck, John B! I'm trying to help him, okay? If we want him to live, we gotta—"

"Not like that! You're making it fucking worse!"

"I'm not! Okay? I'm not. This needs to be sterilized. Fuck, man."

He glares at the other boy angrily, but when he sees the look of utter distress on John B's voice, the way he cradles JJ's head, he bites down that anger and lowers his gaze. Whatever these two have been through, it can't have been pretty. Of course John B doesn't want to hear JJ scream like that. ( _Nobody does._ ) He's probably heard him scream way too often already …

"If we don't sterilize it, chances for him to lose his arm grow exponentially, okay, JB? Trust me, I wouldn't do this otherwise. You _know_ that."

He meets John B's gaze head-on this time, his hands already moving toward JJ's torn arm with a large towel.

"I'll try and wrap this now so he doesn't lose even more blood. Maybe … maybe you can hold him still while I do that. Yeah?"

John B nods, his eyes glassier than before. He clenches his teeth and leans down, muttering something to JJ. Pope is about to say, "He can't hear you." But then he decides against it and goes about his task.

"Oh, shit, John B, you hurt, too?"

Kie's voice doesn't quite register with him, he's too focused on taking care of JJ. Easier said than done. At least poor JJ seems to be unconscious, a blessing under the circumstances.

"Oh god, why didn't you say anything? … Pope!"

"Can someone check on JJ's breathing for me? Kie?" he asks, but she doesn't reply. Instead, she suddenly jumps up and over JJ to where John B is sitting, hunching down next to him, her hands framing his face.

"Why didn't you say anything?" she asks, but he swats her hands away.

"I'm fine."

"You're not!"

"Hello? Can someone check on JJ?"

Pope shoots them nervous glances while wrapping JJ's arm and side as best as he can, surprised when he sees Sarah come to his aid because Kie is apparently still occupied with John B.

The Kook princess holds a hand to JJ's mouth and nose briefly, nodding at Pope.

"He's breathing," she mutters, then, "How can I help?"

"Can one of you go down to the street, guide the ambulance here?"

"Yeah, sure. Topper?"

"Got it," the boy says and it's obvious how glad he is to be getting away from the beach, from them.

"Kie?" Pope asks, shooting her a glance again, and it almost looks as if she and John B are arguing now, both of them hissing at each other angrily, until Kie turns away, her gaze zoning in on Sarah.

"Can you get me another towel?"

"Yeah, of course …"

"I got enough," Pope says, pointing to his finished wrapping job, and the two towels he spread over JJ to keep him warm. But Kie shakes her head at him.

"This one's for John B," she mutters and when he furrows his brow, she shakes her head as if to tell him something. Holding onto JJ, he lets his gaze wander over to his other friend, finally really taking him in, and he swallows hard when realization dawns.

John B's leg is red with blood.

Fuck.

* * *

…

It takes entirely too long for the fucking ambulance to arrive, and when it does, it's only one, not enough. Kie pushes her hair out of her face, ready to pull it out.

There's too much going on. She needs to be in two places at once, but can't.

"Just get JJ to the fucking hospital," she hears John B holler at the paramedic who is trying to wrap his leg, and he wiggles too much under the woman's touch, trying to glance past her to where JJ is now strapped to a gurney, ready to be carried off.

"The other ambulance is on the way," the paramedic says, looking at Kie now rather than John B. "We gotta bring … JJ, is it? We gotta bring him to the hospital now. He can't wait."

Kie nods, just as John B tries to get up.

"I fucking told you that!" he hollers. "I fucking told you he can't wait! If he dies—"

Alarmed at his tone, at the tension building up in him again, Kie wraps her arms around him, keeping him down where he's leaning against a tree, his injured leg stretched out in front of him.

"Shhhh," she soothes. "He's not gonna die, okay? JJ's not gonna die."

"You don't fucking know that!"

He's so full of anger and pain, he doesn't even seem to realize he's sobbing again, and Kie starts crying, too. Again. Because hell does it hurt to see her best friend like this and not be able to do anything. Not for John B, not for JJ.

In her periphery, she sees the paramedic nod at her again.

"They'll be here soon," the woman says. "The IV should help tide him over until then. Try and keep him calm."

With that, she smiles at Kie, patting her shoulder, then off she runs to where her colleague is tending to JJ. Just a few seconds later, they rush away and out of sight, and JJ is on his way to the hospital, Pope in tow, while Kie is left to stare after them.

A pit opens in her stomach.

"He's gonna be okay, John B," she mutters, clinging to him as if he's the one comforting her, and she closes her eyes when he finally lets himself slump against her a bit more, his breaths coming in too quick succession. "Just you wait. You two will be back here surfing in no time," she tries to convince him as much as herself.

"What if … what if he doesn't make it, Kie?" His voice breaks, and she can't help tears from rolling down her cheeks.

"He won't, okay? He won't. He's JJ. He doesn't do dying. Remember … remember that time we went to Mrs. Highmore's old greenhouse and he climbed on top of the roof and decided to dance up there? And then, the roof broke and he fell?"

"He didn't even break a fucking bone …"

"Exactly." She squeezes John B a little, placing a kiss on his temple, and he leans even heavier against her.

"But this is different," he mutters, his voice so quiet she can barely hear him. But she does, she hears every single word, and she doesn't know what to say because he's right.

"I know," she therefore says, leaning her head against John B's, tightening her grip on him. "But he's a fighter. And so are you."

If JJ does die, though …

She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to ban the thought. John B would not handle that well. _She_ would not handle it well. JJ can't die. He's had to deal with so much shit in his life already, he needs more time for the good stuff.

She wanted to be in the ambulance with him so badly, wanted to be there for him. But she can't be in two places at once and John B … She's left him alone before, when he would have really really needed her, and she can't do that again. Not this time.

So Pope is with JJ—they both decided it would be better that way—and knowing JJ is not alone is at least a bit of a relief.

Of course John B fought tooth and nail to be allowed to be the one to ride with JJ. But the paramedics hadn't allowed it. Not with the state he's in.

"It's my fault," John B suddenly says, startling her, his hands coming up to cover his face.

"What? No. How is any of this your fault? Hey. Hey … John B, look at me. John B."

When he does, his eyes are swimming with tears, and her heart breaks into a million tiny pieces for what feels like the hundredth time today. He looks so torn up, so lost, and there is nothing she can do to make it better. So she clings to him and doesn't let go.

"None of this is your fault. Or did you send the shark?"

He shoots her a look then, an almost-eyeroll, and she grins despite her tears.

"See? Then it's not your fault."

"But I … I should have insisted we go to school. But he came to my house and wanted to go surfing and I knew why, so I said yeah, and … and now he's maybe gonna lose his arm, or his life. I don't know what to do, Kie. What do I do if he—"

A sob breaks out of him, cutting his rambling short, and she's oddly grateful for that because she just doesn't know what to say to him, how to help him. She's so useless, and it's the worst feeling.

So, instead of saying anything that doesn't have meaning, she just keeps her arms wrapped around him and holds him close, swaying them both this way and that, until the next ambulance arrives to pick them up.

* * *

…

JJ comes to with a start, gasping, looking around out of wild eyes. The beach is gone, there's a roof above him, the droning of an engine in his ears. His cheek is no longer glued to the surfboard, and the pain has dulled a bit. He's in an ambulance, isn't he? That's probably good.

But also, he can't see John B anywhere.

Panicking, he wants to sit up, but hands keep him from doing so—and the awful pain, which rears its head at the movement. He wants to yell out, but the sound kinda dies at the end, he's so exhausted.

"John B? Where's—"

"Easy, bro."

Pope's face appears before him, a smile on his face that looks so … kind and gentle and so unlike any way Pope has ever looked at him that part of JJ wants to call him out on it, make fun of him, but then a sob rises in him, he's not quite sure from where and how to fight it, it's just suddenly all too much and he wants John B, because John B always makes things better, and now he's not here and he can no longer pretend all is well and going to be okay ...

"Where's John B? Pope, he's … his fucking leg is fish food, he needs to be here, too. He needs to—"

"JJ. He's fine. Another ambulance is on its way to get him, okay? Maybe you two'll get to room together. You'll keep the nurse's busy." Pope chuckles, but it doesn't sound sincere, not that JJ blames him.

"But …" He doesn't know how to say this, how to ask. John B is like his safety blanket. But 16-year-olds don't have safety blankets, do they? It's ridiculous. _He_ is ridiculous.

He really wants John B now, though. He really really does.

"John B …"

"He's gonna be okay, man. Just like you," Pope says, grabbing his hand and holding it, and somehow, JJ doesn't mind the touch. "You just hang in there, okay?"

"Yeah," he murmurs, his eyes fluttering shut of their own accord as Pope squeezes his hand, not letting go.


	3. Hospital

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their encounter with a shark, JJ and John B find themselves at the hospital ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the wait. "Distance learning" is keeping me hella busy.
> 
> I also have no idea what the hell this even is other than me writing a guilty pleasure fic. Well, here we go. I'm not entirely sure I'm satisfied how this chapter turned out, but I hope you'll still enjoy this.
> 
> Writing this in a way that it seems true to the characters is hard work! Getting JJ right is especially difficult. No idea how he'd react in a situation like this, but I did my best to try and stay true to character. I'm always open for pointers, though, on how to improve this.
> 
> Finally finished the last two episodes of the show, so some of this may be inspired by some of the tiny things my random mind likes to focus on.
> 
> (And hell, does my mind like to do that. Doesn't help with anything. It's swimming with half-formed OBX story ideas ...)
> 
> I'm talking too much. Here goes ...

…

John B drifts back out of unconsciousness when they are barging through the wide doors of the emergency room. Letting his gaze flit across the scene, he's trying to make sense of what's going on, trying to remember what happened.

Somehow, he doesn't remember the ride in the ambulance at all …

Shit. JJ. Where's JJ?

Eyes wide with fear, his heart fluttering like a bird in his too tight chest, he scans the place, and can't find a trace of his best friend.

"Hey, John B. Easy …"

Only upon hearing Kie's soft voice does he realize she's still with him, and he's holding her hand in a death grip. He stares up at her, his lips working as he tries to find words.

"You need to go find JJ, Kie," he stammers, his voice shaking with the effort, and she nods, but puts a finger to his lips.

"Shhhh. I will, okay? I'll go in a minute. But first, you need to calm down again."

He _is_ fucking calm, he thinks, then notices his free hand is a fist, digging into the gurney as he's trying to push himself up.

Kie raises her eyebrows, as if she can tell what he's thinking, but he can't help it, he has to keep fighting against the gurney, the stupid IV in his arm, everything.

"John B!" Her tone is upset, but it's the paramedic who stills his movements this time, the man's stern gaze boring into him.

"You need to leave that in, kid. Doctor's gonna take a look at you in a second."

"I need to find JJ."

"We'll check on your friend. But you need to stay put. Do you understand?"

"I need to—"

The man speaks over him, shaking his head.

"You wanna lose that leg?"

"I …" He licks his lips, trying to process the man's words.

"No? Then stay put. This is serious, okay, kid? I get that you're worried about your friend, but it won't help him if you risk your own health. And if you don't stop trying to get up, you'll wreck your leg even more or bleed out. And I don't think any of us want that."

He doesn't know what to say, so he remains quiet, averting his gaze from the paramedic only to see Kie staring at him with a look so pleading that he finally slumps back, all fight leaving him. He nods, not looking at either of them for a few seconds before he lifts his head up again and tugs on Kie's arm.

" _You_ need to make sure he's okay, then. Go find him—and don't let them call his dad."

"John B …"

"I mean it, Kie."

"I don't wanna leave you—"

"Please."

"Promise you'll stay put."

"Promise. If you go find JJ."

"Okay," she breathes, then leans down, placing a soft kiss on his brow. "I'll see you in a bit."

"Yeah," he says stupidly, watching as she goes on her way, shooting him a few more glances before he loses track of her in the bustle of being pushed along.

Closing his eyes, he grimaces as the pain in his leg picks up again, pulsing with every beat of his heart.

If only he knew how JJ's doing. He better be okay. He better fucking be okay ...

* * *

…

Kie is running through the emergency room dazed and out of touch with everything. She feels so awfully torn up that she can barely think. Leaving John B alone again, now, when he really needs someone there, feels so wrong, so fucking wrong. But she needs to find JJ, needs to make sure he's hanging in there, not just because John B so desperately wants to know. She does, too. She needs to see him, maybe hold his hand, make sure he's still there.

But where the hell is he?

This place is too fucking big, and she has no idea where she's going. Blindly, she turns corners, almost running into nurses in scrubs and then a crash cart, looking this way and that and never seeing anything, until abruptly, a hand grips her arm and pulls her to the side.

"Pope! What—"

His eyes are darker than she's ever seen them, an urgency in them that makes her knees grow wobbly.

"Where's JJ?" Oh god, please …

"He's in there," he says, jerking his head to a door right next to them. But when she wants to barge in there, he holds her back. "They threw me out, Kie. It's …" He pulls his hat off his head and runs a hand over his hair before putting it back on, and all Kie can do is pull at her arm still in his grip. She needs to be in there, to check on JJ.

She's got enough wiggle-room to take a peek through the door, but Pope won't let go.

"Kid's friend likely saved his life," she overhears a doctor say—or at least she thinks it's a doctor, not that she can be sure. Everyone is wearing the same fucking scrubs in this damn building.

"Quick thinking with the makeshift tourniquet. Shit, so much blood. Avulsions on the torso aren't too bad, at least. Looks like he crushed some ribs, though. What worries me is the arm … If we can't get him in the OR ASAP, it'll all have been for naught. —Stace, any word from his parents?"

"Nothing. Can't get a hold of them. Sheriff said the boy's mom is out of the picture. Dad's a deadbeat. Notorious drunk, apparently."

"Poor kid. DCS on their way?"

"Yeah."

"Well, screw it, then. It's our decision. This arm's gotta come off. He's lost too much tissue, necrosis is setting in right here … it's not salvageable."

Kie's eyes grow wide.

No. Oh no …

"Fuck," she hears Pope curse and he finally lets go of her arm so she can run.

"Kid is _sixteen,_ Antwon," one of the people inside the room is saying just then, however, and Kie wants to emphasize it, wants to yell, "fucking yes! You can't just cut his arm off!" But then her gaze falls on JJ, and she stops in her tracks before she's made it past the door. His too still form is way too pale and lifeless, except for the arm they're talking about, which is such a mess that she has to press a hand against her mouth to keep from retching, the other clamping around the door-frame.

Oh god, oh god, oh god … JJ.

"I know, believe me, I do. But there's nothing I can do anymore other than make sure he lives through this. Amputation is the only way. I wish it wasn't, but I don't see a way around it. Do you? I mean, look at this mess. It's barely attached anymore. There's zero tissue down here. Maybe I can save the upper arm, but … can't even tell anymore where the hand was."

"At least there's good prosthetics these days."

"For a kid like him? Doesn't look like he's from the fancy part of the OBX … —I'm gonna call ahead. You get him ready for upstairs. —Stace? Try his dad one more time?"

"You sure? Something tells me it's better we make the decisions without him. Did you see those bruises on the kid's abdomen and back? The split lip? That was no shark …"

"Some people shouldn't be allowed to have kids."

"Yeah …"

"Go run, then, tell OR to get prepped."

When a young nurse bursts past her and out of the room, Kie shrinks against the wall, her gaze meeting Pope's, who's standing right next to her, as frozen as she is. Kie's heart is beating all the way up to her throat.

What those doctors said …

Her face scrunches up, her chin wobbling as she turns to Pope. Trying to bite back tears, she grabs his sleeves.

"They're gonna amputate his arm?"

Oh JJ ...

* * *

...

A grating beeping is the first thing that registers with JJ when he comes to again. Its _beep beep beep_ is gradually making its way into every last corner of his brain and he wants it to fucking stop.

He clenches his teeth and tries to peel his eyes open, to see. To get rid of the blur, he has to blink a couple of times. But once his vision is clear, his gaze flits around as he's trying to gauge his situation.

Memory whooshes back without mercy when he sees the blinding lights above, the strange faces, people in greenish scrubs.

He's at a hospital.

Shit. The shark …

Strong hands keep him down when he rushes to get up, a white-hot pain shooting into his side. Still, he tries to push the hands away and off of him, his heart ready to burst out of his chest.

"It's alright, sweetheart," a foreign voice tells him, and when he turns his head to glare at the owner, he sees a middle-aged woman leaning over him, a warm smile on her face. She honestly looks kinda … nice.

But.

"I need to … get out."

"Sweetie, do you know where you are? What happened?"

Well, duh. Fucking shark bit into him, and John B. He and his best friend almost turned into the best fucking meal the stupid fish ever had. Hope the fucking thing choked on the bite it took out of his arm, at least.

"I need to go," he slurs, his tongue too thick in his mouth. The nurse is still smiling her too kind smile and he's just not used to a grown-up looking at him like that, and his side is throbbing, if not as much as before, and then he turns his head to the side and—

"Huh." He almost chokes.

Fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

"You're at the hospital, sweetie. I'm Rachel. If you need anything, you can press the call button. But right now it's really important that you get a lot of rest. Do you remember what happened?"

"Uh, Rachel?" A disbelieving grin spreads on his face. It happens of its own accord, he can't help it, though he sure as hell doesn't feel like any of this is cause for grinning because … "Where's my arm?"

"Oh sweetie …"

His name isn't fucking "sweetie!" Fuck. Eyes wide, pain almost forgotten for a moment, he stares at his right arm—or what's left of it—and tries to comprehend what he sees. His entire shoulder and upper arm are hidden under a thick wad of gauze and bandages, his side is patched up, too. It almost looks like he has a huge ball of cotton wool taped to it. But … his lower arm and hand are not there anymore.

Nausea rises in him, his heart almost stopping when he forgets to breathe.

Oh god, he's going to throw up, isn't he? Deep down he knew this was a possibility, that he could lose his arm, but … he never thought it would actually happen. And now it's gone.

"You cut off my arm?" He half-yells out the question, the disbelief and shock probably making him sound like a lunatic, but who cares? Who fucking cares? His arm is gone.

"Sweetie, why don't I—"

"You cut my fucking arm off?!"

"Sweetie, you need to calm down, or I'll have to sedate you more."

"You …"

Fuck. All of a sudden, he can't breathe anymore, with every try, pain shoots into his lungs, ripping him in half, and … he just can't do it.

"JJ?"

He turns his head, frantic now, his hand—his one remaining hand—fisting the sheet covering him when he sees Kie standing in the door-frame, Pope right by her side. They both look so … stricken, that he starts laughing.

"Did … did you know, they chopped my fucking arm off. They chopped my arm off … As if this day wasn't already a fucking mess, now they—"

"Mr. Maybank, you need to calm down and breathe."

"Fuck off, Rachel," he hisses, waving at her dismissively. But when Kie rushes toward him, Pope following a little behind, his laugh turns into something more painful, the lump in his throat hurting more than his wounds when he starts sobbing. And fuck that! When was the last time he sobbed openly in front of his friends? Shit …

"Oh, JJ …"

"No." He shakes his head, wiping his face with his good arm, suddenly feeling the ridiculous urge to hide. But there's no place to hide, and he doesn't know what to do or what to think or feel, and everything hurts, and …

"Where the fuck is John B?" he sobs out, but before anyone can answer that, Kie has already thrown her arms around him as much as his injuries allow, and she's holding him, just holding him, and he can't help but melt into her touch, and let the sobs break out of him.

"It's going to be okay," she soothes. "It's going to be okay …"

But how? He's fucked, so fucked. He's at the hospital, his arm is gone, breathing is torture, and … when his dad gets wind of this—and he will—JJ is in for something way worse.

It would have been better if the fucking shark had finished him off right there and then.

"Shhhh, JJ, you'll be okay."

"No, I won't … If my dad—fuck."

Kie's hold on him tightens, and he fists her shirt, unable to control himself, unable to function, it's just too hard.

"He's gonna kill me."

"No one's gonna kill you, JJ."

"Fuck, do you even know how much this'll cost? The … the hospital? He's—"

"JJ …"

"Kiddo, if you don't calm down, I'll need to sedate you. You need to try and take some nice even breaths for me, can you do that?"

No, Rachel, he fucking can't! You try taking "some nice even breaths" when you're in his shoes. He manages to glare at the nurse from over Kie's shoulder, a hint of his old defiance back. But his pathetic attempts at breathing through the pain soon paint a grimace onto his face and he's beginning to hyperventilate. Shit, he can't … breathe.

"Kie …"

"Hey, JJ, shhhh, shhhh, it's alright."

But it's not! It's not, can no one see that? It's not o-fucking-kay!

The sting barely registers with him at first, but when it does, when he realizes what nurse Rachel did, he looks up at her, feeling oddly betrayed.

"Did you just …"

He grows loopier and loopier, the world beginning to sway as he tries to dig his fingers into Kie to stay alert, awake, and then … everything fades.

* * *

…

Pope stands frozen to the spot right by the door, witnessing one of his best friends break down. He's never seen JJ like this before. He's usually so funny, always joking, always too full of a slightly dangerous energy that, combined with his strength and penchant for aggravating Kooks has landed him in trouble too many times. And still, he'd always have a big grin on his face.

But right now he's just … broken. Helpless, Pope watches him struggle. Holding his breath, he clings to the door-frame with one hand, too afraid to step any closer, just like before.

He closes his eyes, exhaling in a shudder when he thinks back to just a few hours ago. How relieved he was when the doctors had told him to wait outside. And how shitty of him is that? That he was glad he didn't have to stay by his friend's side—because it was so fucking hard to watch him suffer.

How much harder this all is for JJ, though. Pope better pull himself together.

If only he was kind and soft like Kie and could wrap JJ in a hug too. But he can't. He doesn't know how to, doesn't know whether JJ would even allow it. So he's hovering by the door, too afraid to step closer, too afraid to leave, either.

Until Kie turns to face him, her cheeks shiny with tears, and JJ slumps into his pillow, his face suddenly peaceful in unconsciousness.

Pope's eyebrows knit together in sorrow as he holds Kie's gaze, watches as she absently begins to stroke JJ's face, her gaze flitting back between the boy in the bed and him.

"Oh fuck," she suddenly blurts, a jerk going through her, and the nurse shoots her a frown that Kie doesn't notice. "John B!" she exclaims. "I forgot about John B. Fuck, Pope, he's all alone somewhere here. I need to find him. But I can't leave JJ, I …"

She's sobbing again, and his stomach turns, an ache spreading in him. He wants to rush over and hold her, too. Not that she'd want him to. She only got eyes for JJ, and John B. ( _And is he really jealous of his two injured friends right now? He needs to pull himself together_.) So he juts out his chin and nods.

"I'll go check up on him."

"The kid with the leg-injury? They were together, huh?" the nurse pipes up, startling both Kie and him, as if he keeps forgetting she's in the room with them. Although she's right there, tending to JJ. JJ, who Pope is secretly trying not to look at.

It's Kie who finds her voice first, not surprisingly, and she nods eagerly, her sole focus on the woman in scrubs.

"John B, yeah. He's our friend, too. Know where he is? Last I saw he was in the ER, and then …"

"I'll check on him for you, see where they put him, alright? You just stay here with JJ if you want. But he'll be out for a while. Maybe it's time you two got some rest as well, huh? Did you call your parents?"

Pope bites his lip. Shit. Another thing he needs to do. The logistics of this whole thing are a nightmare.

"Um," he says, when the nurse eventually makes her way toward where he's standing. "Could I come with? One of us should be with John B as soon as possible."

Something is going on behind the nurse's kind facade, a flicker of concerned sadness, of understanding passing through her eyes before she smiles up at him again.

"These two boys … they don't really have anyone other than you two looking out for them, do they?"

He's about to reply when he catches Kie's gaze. She's shaking her head, mouthing, _Don't say anything._

So he doesn't.

Maybe he should.

* * *

…

When John B blinks his eyes open and the first person he spots is fucking Cheryl from DCS, he closes them again quickly, hoping that maybe this is all just a really fucked up dream.

"Hey John B. I'm glad you're still with us. The doctor said you were very lucky."

Lucky? He doesn't feel particularly lucky. As if to underscore his point, a sharp pain shoots into his leg and he clenches his hands into tight fists to try and fight it, not quite sure whether he let a noise slip or not.

"Should I get the nurse for you?"

Cheryl's tone is so laced with fake-concern that he turns to glare at her.

"I'm fine. Where's JJ."

"JJ?"

"My friend. Who was with me when the …" Somehow, he can't bring himself to say it.

"Oh."

Oh? How helpful, Cheryl. John B scoots up a bit in his bed—or he tries to, his leg is like a log, unmovable and burning like fire. He moves to cross his arms, but there's a ton of stuff attached to them, a venous catheter leading from the crook of his arm up to an IV drip above him, a patch on his right hand and … yeah, he'll just not do it.

Swallowing hard, he stares at Cheryl, still waiting for a reply. He knows he's violating JJ's and his secret agreement—don't mention each other's names to any officials, certainly not DCS—but John B needs to know JJ is okay and if the only fucking person who can help him find out is Cheryl, then so be it. Not like he has a choice, because no one else is here.

"So?"

"He's … John B."

"What?" Suddenly way more alert, he shifts his position, almost choking on a yell when he jostles his leg too much. "What's going on. Where's JJ?" He's panicking again, he knows it, but he can't help it. Cheryl's expression tells him something is seriously wrong, so why doesn't she just tell him? "He's not dead, is he? Where is he, I need to …"

He's fumbling with the stupid thing in his arm, trying to get out of bed, when Cheryl rushes off her chair with surprising agility and stops him.

"He's okay, John B. Your friend, JJ. He's … he's on the same floor somewhere. It's just … He wasn't as lucky as you. His arm …" She sighs, looking down, and he's ready to jump out of bed and at her to make her talk, when she finally looks up again. "They had to amputate his arm. But he's strong. He'll be fine."

He stops listening. Or maybe Cheryl stops talking, or his ears are taking a break. It doesn't matter.

JJ lost his arm ...

"I can arrange for you to see him, maybe even share a room. But John B. We need to talk about a few things first. Your uncle …"

He's gnashing his teeth, trying to process, trying to get his mind and body back in gear, but there's this … cottony white noise in his head, threatening to take over.

"... I have it on good authority that he's been gone for some weeks now. Which is not what was agreed upon. John B, I couldn't even reach him yet—to tell him about your … accident. He's not a suitable guardian."

"I don't … I don't need a fucking guardian, Cheryl, okay? My dad'll be back soon. And I can take care of myself. Besides, Uncle T is on his way back, okay? _I_ talked to him."

"Yeah? When?"

Stupid Cheryl can see right through him, as usual, can't she? But he doesn't have time for this. Not now. Not ever.

Because JJ lost his arm.

Jerking his chin toward the small table by his side, he scowls at her.

"I called him, from here. My phone's in there. Wanna check? Search through my history? Go ahead."

"That won't be necessary," Cheryl chirps, though her face says otherwise. He can tell that she's itching to grab his phone and go through it. But she doesn't.

Which is good. Because he has no fucking clue where Uncle T really is. Not that he cares. The guy isn't particularly easy to be around, to say the least … (and that's saying something, since his dad isn't easy, either. And still, he's grateful for Big John. Could have easily ended up with an abusive asshole like JJ's dad after all, especially here on the cut.)

"Can I just go see JJ now?"

"John B …"

"Don't fucking 'John B' me, Cheryl, okay? Not today. Not after …" Running a hand through his hair in agitation, he just looks at her, steering clear of what he doesn't want to mention, doesn't want to relive, not even in words. "Can you please just go check where JJ is?"

The woman with her prim face and tense shoulders eyes him with a resigned expression. Then, finally, she says, "Fine. _If_ you promise to stay put."

He lifts a hand, touches it to his heart.

"Absolutely. Scouts honor."

She rolls her eyes. But her mouth is softening a tiny bit as she gets ready to leave.

"Don't make me regret this. I'll be right back."

He beams at her, the expression wiped off his face as soon as Cheryl is out the door, and he pushes his fists into the mattress, trying to battle his sorrow about JJ—and the fucking pain. He's half-debating calling for a nurse, when a shadow appears by the door. Expecting it to be Cheryl, he straightens, forcing himself to take even breaths, but then he sees Pope idling in the doorway, waving a hand at him before he steps in.

"You're hard to find, JB."

Scoffing, he quirks up an eyebrow. A retort is on the tip of his tongue but then he realizes that Pope probably knows where JJ is, and he focuses on that instead.

"Bro, you seen JJ? How is he? I need to see him. Cheryl said they amputated his arm …"

"Who's Cheryl?"

"... They can't do that, man. They fucking can't. I need to see him. Where is he?"

"You need to chill, man." Pope's eyes are suddenly wide and worried, and John B just glares at him, angry now and frustrated because …

"Where is JJ?"

Grappling with the stupid IV-thing again, he tries to sit up straighter, tries to get his legs to move, but the pain is crippling now, making him gasp, and why is it so loud all of a sudden?

His gaze meets Pope's when his friend appears right next to him way too fast, his hands on John B's arm, the concern replaced by what looks like actual fear, and John B's heart skips a beat.

"How bad is it?"

"Dude." Pope is staring past John B, and he turns his head briefly, not seeing anything interesting, then focuses back on his friend, pulling at his shirt.

"Where the fuck is JJ? What's going on?"

"You alright, JB? Man, I don't …"

"Pope!"

"He's … not great, okay? But he's alive and … well, fuck, you already know about the arm. He's out now. They gave him something so he'd calm down—and if you don't want them to do that to _you_ , too, you need to chill the fuck out, bro, okay?"

Pope's hand is doing a frantic wave over to the side of John B's head, and when he looks over there this time, it finally registers with him what's been making so much noise. There's a monitor by the side of his bed, with squiggly lines and numbers, and a little light keeps flashing, making beeping noises at an increasingly annoying frequency. An alarm.

"Chill," Pope implores him again, his face mere inches away. But John B can't fucking chill. Not with JJ in trouble … and not with that awful sensation coursing through his leg.

Scrunching up his face, he grips the spot right above the thick bandages and leans back against his pillow. Sucking in air through clenched teeth, he digs his free hand into the mattress as if that could make it all stop, the cotton in his head, the pain in his leg, the noise, the …

"Hey, kiddo. Your leg bothering you? I'm gonna amp up the dose in your drip a bit now, okay? Should just take a few more minutes. Just a few more minutes …

"JJ. Pope, you need to go to JJ. You … you," he pants out between too short bursts of breath, not even caring who's talking to him, only waiting for his friend to reply.

Then, when Pope does, when he says, "Kie's with him, bro. He's not alone," as if knowing that's what John B needed to hear, he finally allows himself to close his eyes, just for a moment, just to catch his breath and ride out this wave, so he can go check on JJ himself.

* * *

…

It must be night. JJ can see a window from where he's lying. The blinds are closed, and it's dark but for a few blinking lights here and there, only a dim sheen coming in from the hallway.

He swallows, grimacing at the taste in his mouth. At the back of his head, the terror from earlier is floating closer to the surface. But he's trying to actively push it away, to no avail.

With a shuddering sigh, he turns his head to the right, looking up at the ceiling above as he steals himself. Then he looks down.

Still gone. Shit.

His gaze wanders further, and a soft gasp escapes him when it lands on the bed right next to his—on the person lying there.

John B …

He wasn't here before, JJ is pretty certain of that even though he's not certain of much anymore. But John B in his room, that's definitely new.

His lips move as he's trying to get his tongue to work, to say something. But it's such an effort.

"John B," he eventually manages. It comes out as croak, and he curses to himself at how weak he is.

"He probably can't hear you now, sweetie."

JJ rolls his eyes, twisting his neck a bit to see the owner of that voice. It's that nurse again. Rachel? Was that her name? (Doesn't fucking matter.) She's busy checking the monitors right next to John B.

"He's okay, though, sweetie," she assures him, maybe picking up on his sudden tension. "Just asleep."

He stares at John B, watching his best friend take even breaths, his face almost relaxed—so different from before.

"You got some great friends, sweetie. This one here wasn't gonna calm down until we wheeled him in here with you."

A smile steals itself onto his features.

"Gave you hell, huh? That's ma boy," he mutters, and Rachel beams at him.

"Wouldn't you know it. Almost made himself pass out, he was so agitated. Between this and the medication, we finally got him to calm down. He's been out for a couple hours now. —You need more rest, too, JJ. I can give you something that'll help with sleeping …"

When she seems satisfied with John B, she makes her way over to JJ, making him tense up involuntarily.

"Nah, I'm … good." Not his first lie. Won't be his last. "Did Kie …"

"Oh, the pretty girl who was here all day? She went home for a bit. Her parents picked her up. She didn't want to leave your side, either, that one." Rachel smiles, pats his good shoulder. "She's a sweetheart. Your other friend too. The one with the too earnest eyes?"

"Pope. Yeah …" A soft chuckle escapes him, breaking off when it jostles his shoulder and side. Sucking in air, he grimaces.

"They both didn't want to leave you boys. If it weren't for their parents insisting, they'd still be here now, I'm sure."

Parents who care ...

"Wonder what that's like …"

Rachel shoots him a glance that's so piercing he has to look away.

"Pardon?"

He wants to wave her off, but he's too sore. Even the arm that's still attached doesn't want to obey him. He's so damn tired.

"I'm sorry, sweetie. Still haven't gotten a hold of your dad. Sounded like your friend here's not faring much better …"

No shit, Sherlock.

"We got each other, 's all we need." Fuck parents. He's better off without his dad showing up here. Not that he can admit that. Rachel wouldn't understand.

She's hovering by his side, checking his IV, reading the monitor, and he allows himself to relax a little around her.

"How's the side and arm?"

"Fucking great, Rachel. Whaddya think?" Can't she just shut up? He sneaks another glance at John B, wishing for him to wake up. Half-hoping the voices will pull him from his sleep.

Then he sees a pained grimace flit across his best friend's features, just for a few seconds, but enough for him to realize it's good that John B's out, at least for a little bit.

Because when JJ closes his eyes, he can still see his face distorted by a scream, his blood painting the water pink ...

"Nice and even breaths now, sweetie. In and out, in, and out. There ya go. Tomorrow, the world will look a little better already."

He scoffs, not looking at her. Easy for her to say.

But he's too exhausted to argue, too exhausted to make any inappropriate jokes.

At least he's not alone. John B is right there, just a few feet away. JJ can almost pretend they're at the Château, that this is his safe haven. That he'll be okay again.

"Sleep," Rachel says, stroking his cheek, and he wants to tell her to stop with the fucking coddly tone and gestures, to keep her hands off him. But he kinda likes it.

Tomorrow will come, he knows that. And unlike what nurse Rachel seems to think, it won't make anything better. His arm will still be gone, he'll still be at the hospital, in pain.

But at least he's not alone. He's not alone …

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Next up: Luke will make an appearance at the hospital. That should be ... interesting.
> 
> More JJ and John B, finally interacting again.
> 
> And Pope and Kie being good friends.
> 
> Still not sure whether I'll bring Sarah into this more ...


	4. Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JJ and John B finally get to share a room. While they're trying to come to terms with what happened, Luke Maybank shows up at the hospital for a visit.
> 
> Things don't go so well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're here, reading: thank you. Hope you don't mind a bit of a bromance-whump-fest.
> 
> Without further ado:

…

Breakfast tastes stale. Kie isn't hungry anyways. The thought of food makes her nauseous when she remembers the day before. JJ and John B, mauled by that awful shark.

And now JJ's arm is gone, and …

She puts a hand to her mouth, getting up so fast her chair falls over.

"Kie, what—," her mom calls after her, but she can't explain. Racing to the bathroom, she barely makes it to the toilet.

When she trudges back into the kitchen, her parents are shooting her concerned looks.

"You alright, babygirl?" her mom asks, using an endearment Kie hasn't heard in a while.

"Yeah. I just … can I go back to the hospital now?"

"It's awful what happened to your friends," Anna says, her tone too hesitant and Kie knows her mom is going to try and make her stay away. "But it's a school day. You can visit them later."

"I'm not just gonna go to school, mom! JJ and John B need someone there, now. They—"

"That shouldn't have to be you, though! Where's their own families, huh? You're just a barely sixteen year old teenager. You're not supposed to be their sole support system!"

"It's not their fault their families are non-existent, okay? Not everyone is as lucky as we are! Ugh … I'm gonna get ready."

"Kiara! We're not done talking about this. Mike, can you …"

"Let her go, Anna."

"Mike!"

Kie catches her dad raising an eyebrow at his wife, and, surprisingly, her mom falls silent.

"I'll give you a ride," her dad then says, looking at Kie with a sympathetic smile. "But you can't stay as long as yesterday. That was an exception. No longer than until dinner time today, understand?"

She runs toward where he's standing by the sink and throws her arms around him.

"Thanks, dad," she mutters, closing her eyes when he hugs her tight.

"Yeah, yeah. Come on. I need to be at the Wreck in thirty so we gotta hurry."

She doesn't need to be told twice.

* * *

…

When morning rolls around, JJ wakes up feeling groggy and in pain. The worst thing, it's his right arm and hand that are on fire—even though they aren't even there anymore. How fucked up is that?

Gritting his teeth, he tries to adjust his position, unable to stifle a moan. He closes his eyes.

"JJ?"

Perking up at the voice, he turns to the side, seeing John B leaning up in the bed next to his, a worried frown on his face that turns into a tentative smile when JJ meets his gaze.

"Sup, bro?"

"Shit, JJ, you okay? I'm …" John B licks his lip, runs a patched up looking hand through his unruly curls. He's gonna mention JJ's arm next, isn't he? Because even they can't pretend yesterday didn't happen. Maybe they can at least pretend they didn't both break down and turn into blubbering messes, though? Yeah? "So sorry about your arm, man. I don't … I don't know what to say."

"Can we turn it into fish sticks?" JJ jokes, not sure his voice is steady enough for humor yet.

John B scoffs.

"The shark?"

"No, my arm. —Bro. Of course the shark"

His best friend's chuckle somehow is the best sound he's ever heard.

"Serves him right for trying to eat us."

"Think it'd make us cannibals if we ate it, though? We'd basically be eating ourselves …"

JJ chokes on a laugh as John B rolls his eyes at him.

"Your brain's fucked up, JJ."

"Aw, thanks." JJ clutches his heart with his good hand.

For a while, they both just enjoy the banter, and each other's presence. Until silence seeps in again, pain pulsing to the forefront of JJ's consciousness, and he sighs.

Trying to distract himself, to keep it together, too, he checks over John B, jerking his chin at the big patch covering almost all of his best friend's right hand.

"What happened there?" he then asks, and John B shrugs.

"Don't know. Probably from when I tried fighting it off …"

Lifting his other arm for just a second, John B shows him that it's bandaged up to the elbow.

"Fucking shark, man," JJ grits out as his mind goes back to the ocean. How green the blood looked from underwater. His, and John B's …

His head is suddenly pounding, his ribs protesting whenever he takes a breath.

"I'm just glad you're alive, man," John B mutters, so quietly that JJ can pretend he didn't hear him.

"Yeah," he says anyways. "Same."

He swallows, but his throat is too dry. He needs water. Eyeing the small table right next to him, he tries to gauge how far it is to the little plastic bottle standing there. Even if he could reach it though, would he be able to open the cap with one hand? Fuck …

His arm hurts too bad, and how fucking cruel is that? Stupid limb isn't there anymore, after all. Way to taunt him.

"JJ, you alright?"

"Fantastic," he says. But he can't breathe. It's almost as if he's back underwater, trying to swim up, get his head above the surface, and it's not working.

How is someone like him going to manage in life without his fucking arm? He doesn't have the luxury of going for a stupid office job. He'll need his fucking hands. His dad is going to be so pissed …

"JJ. You're scaring me, man. Talk to me. JJ."

"John B—"

"Right here, man."

Frantically, he tries to sit up, to shift his position, but it hurts too fucking much.

"Don't move so much, okay, JJ? JJ? —Fuck. Can someone get in here? Hello? We need help in here!"

His ears are ringing. He wants to tell John B to turn it down a notch, but his bed is tilting, the world spinning. His arm is a thousand pounds too heavy, and he can't get his lungs to expand.

Shit.

"John B … Can't breathe, I can't …"

"It's okay, JJ."

"Mr. Routledge, what's with the noise? And don't you dare climb out of—

"He can't fucking breathe! He was just fine and then … Do something. Do something. Please. Oh, fuck …"

JJ doesn't hear the rest. Everything just finally quiets down as a black fuzzy cloud envelopes him, and all he thinks is that John B really needs to chill. Bro is way too tense.

…

For Pope, the night goes by in a weird blur of too little sleep and too many hours to worry about his friends, so he's already halfway through a bowl of Cheerios by the time his old man comes around the corner. And that is saying something. Heyward is usually up at the crack of dawn after all, out the door before Pope has had a chance to even use the bathroom.

Today, though, is different.

When two of your best friends almost die so violently, you can't just go on about your days—and nights—as usual.

Looking up at his father now, who squints at him out of concerned eyes, Pope mumbles out a quick "morning," then stares back into his bowl.

His appetite is gone.

"You doing okay, son?"

"Uh huh … Listen, dad, after school, can I …"

"Go to the hospital? You really gonna wait that long or you just trying to please your old man?"

Flustered, Pope sits up straighter, trying to gauge what his dad means.

"I wasn't … gonna skip school, if that's what you're thinking. I was gonna wait till after, but yeah. I need to go check on JJ and John B."

"Course you do, son. Y'all are as tight as sardines. I'm surprised I even managed to get you home last night. Why don't you just come with me, huh? It's a beautiful morning. I'll drop you off at the hospital for an hour and pick you up before school starts. Sound good?"

Really? Pope hurries to get up off his chair, wrapping his dad in a hug before his old man can change his mind.

"Thanks dad!"

"Yeah, yeah. Just don't tell 'em I'm growing soft. I still don't like 'em."

"Sure you don't." Pope winks, and Heyward rolls his eyes, neither denying nor confirming it. But Pope knows his dad. The man is way softer than he lets on.

Way way softer ...

* * *

...

More surgeries. That's the first thing they tell JJ when he wakes up again. He'll need a few more surgeries on his arm. They had to go in and do something about his cracked ribs, too, apparently. But at least that means breathing is finally a lot easier.

But. More fucking surgeries means more bills. Money he doesn't have. He doesn't even know whether his dad has any kind of insurance. He'll probably be indebted for life. If his dad doesn't put him out of his misery, that is.

"Hey kid."

Speaking of … Shit.

JJ's throat closes.

"JJ …"

Looking over to where a way too concerned looking John B shoots up in bed, JJ grimaces, then turns toward the door, where Luke Maybank has appeared, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line.

"Hey dad," JJ manages to croak out, trying to prepare for whatever is to come. But it's so impossible to know how his dad will react. JJ is already a mess after all. His dad couldn't do much worse to him. Plus, they're in a public place, a hospital. Lots of witnesses, one right here in the room with them.

"How you doing, kid?"

JJ's mouth is working. Is this a trick question? What kind of answer would his dad like to hear? Trying to figure that out is not so easy, especially since his brain is still kind of foggy. The painkillers they have him on sure are something else.

"Uh …"

"Hospital called me. Told me you had a run-in with a shark."

"Yeah …" He grins a lopsided grin when his dad is so close he can place a hand on JJ's shoulder, and he tenses under the touch. "Sorry. Wasn't planned."

Luke's grip tightens until it becomes uncomfortable, and all JJ can do is try to breathe as evenly as possible when his dad leans down to whisper into his ear.

"This is gonna cost us a fucking fortune, boy. How on earth is it that you always fuck up so bad? Huh? Every fucking time."

"Like I said," he bites out, anger stirring in him after all, "it wasn't planned. You think I _wanted_ to get mauled by a fucking shark?"

"I don't know. Maybe you did." Luke's lips almost touch his ear. Then he looks up briefly, shooting John B a glance. "Hey, Routledge. You and JJ do anything stupid to attract that shark?"

"No, sir."

JJ can't look at John B. He can't look at his father, either. If only he could hide under his blanket, pretend he can't hear a thing, can't hear the wariness in John B's tone, or the barely contained rage in his dad's. He's just glad that his best friend knows Luke Maybank well enough not to aggravate him more.

Nodding, his dad turns back to glare at JJ, his face an inch away at most so that JJ has no way of seeing him properly, and no way of turning away.

"You must have done something."

"I didn't. Dad, we were just surfing. Like any other day."

"When you were supposed to be in school? D'you realize how that looks? Like I'm not taking good care of you. Got a call from a _Diane_ from DCS this morning, telling me the hospital had to make medical decisions for my underage son since I wasn't available. 'Available,' she said. Pointed out you also had some injuries that couldn't have come from a fucking fight with a fish. —You tell them something? Huh?"

"No."

JJ shrinks into his pillow, the motion involuntary. He needs to get space between him and his dad. But there's no escape, not here.

"You tell him your daddy hurt you? That it? This whole shark-tale your fucked up way of getting them interested in you?"

His dad's voice is so soft, the whisper so quiet John B won't be able to hear it. But to JJ, it's way too loud. The ringing in his ears picks back up again, drowning out the world around him. Except for his dad and his threatening voice.

"Hope it was worth it, because you're gonna have to work your ass off to pay for this little vacation here. You already had two surgeries. And there'll be at least two more. Do you have any fucking idea how much money that'll cost? Fuck!"

Luke shoots up, pressing his hands against his head as he curses. Wide-eyed, JJ stares up at the man, his dad, just waiting for the inevitable now. The explosion.

He's breathing too fast again, short shallow bursts that aggravate his sore ribs, despite the painkillers, and he grimaces, clutching his good hand against his smarting side.

"JJ …"

Turning to stare at John B, JJ shakes his head, wordlessly imploring his best friend to stay quiet. Because if there's one thing that'd be even worse than having Luke blow a gasket and have a go at him, it'd be involving John B in this mess.

The first punch comes without warning, as usual, only that this time, his dad's fist collides with the pillow instead of his head. Still, JJ is rattled, his heart beating too fast, the pain in his body pulsing with renewed strength.

"Shit!"

That's John B. JJ can't look at him now, he can't. Of course John B has always had an inkling of what's been going on behind closed doors in the Maybank home, but seeing it—even just a hint of it—that's gotta be different.

"Leave JJ alone!"

For some sick reason, JJ can't help but break into a manic laugh at the face his dad makes, at John B's indignant tone. Some part of JJ seems to think this is super funny. But it isn't. It fucking isn't.

His dad shakes his head.

"Stay out of it, kid," he tells John B, not paying him a second thought before he zones in on JJ again, grabbing him by the neck with so much force that he pulls him off the mattress. Yellow haze washes over his vision, stars exploding behind his eyes when he squeezes them shut at the sensation the rough treatment causes, setting his shoulder and arm and chest ablaze.

A yell escapes him, loud and feral, coming from a place deep inside.

And the next thing he knows, everything completely turns to shit. Again. ( _He needs a break. He needs a fucking break so bad …_ )

* * *

…

John B's always known Luke Maybank is bad news. Even his own dad knew that, and if John B is being honest (which he tries not to be. Call him delusional, or whatever), Big John is a pretty shitty dad himself, so coming from him, that really drove home a point.

And now he can see for the first time just how true that is. Luke Maybank isn't just a shitty father. He's … something else. Dangerous.

The second the man walks through the door, John B is on edge, tense as a rod, just waiting for disaster. Then, when Luke's fist connects with a spot just beside JJ's frozen face, he's had enough.

Pressing down on the stupid call button like a maniac, he begins tugging at the IV in his arm (again). Only this time, he succeeds. When the thing won't budge, he tears at it until blood gushes out, but compared to the amounts he's seen yesterday, this is nothing. Besides, it doesn't count.

Luke Maybank is about to rip his son's head off, and John B is determined to not let that happen. For once he has a chance to be there for JJ when it really matters—before the bruises appear—and he'll be damned if he just sits here and waits for someone else to hopefully come by in time.

He's not fast enough, though. Once he's taken care of the IV and his arms are free, he's still stuck having to maneuver his legs out of bed—but before he can do that, a scream pierces his ears, and he watches in horror as Luke Maybank hauls JJ up by his neck and arm, making his usually strong best friend look like a ragdoll.

"Stop! Don't fucking touch him!" he yells, clenching his jaw as he pulls at his injured leg until he can finally get it over the edge of his bed. Nausea rises in his throat, a wave of dizziness making him clutch the rails when his feet touch the ground underneath. Lightning travels up and down his injured leg.

He has to close his eyes for a second, until the swaying stops. Then he braces himself and takes the first step, almost passing out.

"You ruin everything! You fucking piece of shit," Luke hisses, still holding JJ up. Poor JJ, who's eyes roll back into his skull as he weakly clutches his dad's shirt in one hand in an attempt to keep him away.

"Let go of him!" John B roars, hurling himself forward when he realizes he won't be able to walk, and by sheer willpower alone, he makes it over to JJ's bed, lunging himself at Luke Maybank to pull him away.

When the man lets go of JJ abruptly, a triumphant grin appears on John B's face, if only for a second. JJ slumps back onto the mattress, the motion way too rough, and he yells out again, his chest moving in a fast staccato, his gaze flitting listlessly for a few seconds before they zone in on John B.

"Get the fuck away, JB," he seems to be mouthing. Something like that, but John B can't. His leg won't obey him. He's standing just a little away from JJ and his dad, balancing on one leg, his hands fists by his sides when Luke Maybank turns away from his son to take him in. Wiping a hand across his mouth, the man shakes his head, and for one moment, John B wonders whether maybe he feels guilty now after all, regrets what he did to his own son. Until the man's face breaks into a disbelieving grin.

"You think that was smart, boy? You think you're such a great friend, protecting poor little JJ here from his violent dad? Huh? Huh?!"

"Just take your fucking hands off him." He has no idea where the stupid bravery comes from, maybe it's from the same place that makes him do the things that always make his friends accuse him of playing the hero.

But he can't help it.

He also can't move, even though he wants to back away. If he shifts his weight, he'll fall. Raising his hands, he tries to appease JJ's dad.

Now would be a good time for those fucking nurses to show up … But when he peeks past Luke toward the hallway, no one's there.

Shit.

The kick comes so fast it doesn't even quite register with him until he's already slamming into the side of his bed as his injured leg gives way to the brute force of Luke's foot connecting with it.

It's his turn to yell, he has no control over it, the sensation is too much, bringing him right back to yesterday when the shark clamped down on his thigh and he thought the beast was going to snap right through the bone.

"No! Dad, stop! Stop! —John B! John B …"

Blinking, he tries to stay conscious, everything spinning around him, way too fast. Something connects with the side of his head, too, he's not sure what. His hand comes away bleeding when he touches his temple, but instead of focusing on that, he lets his gaze wander up to where he saw JJ last. Only, JJ is no longer there, is no longer lying in his bed, but he's standing right there before him, swinging something in his one hand as Luke Maybank goes to the ground with an awkward thud, knocked out cold.

"Fuck, John B, I told you not to do that. I told you."

"Told me what?" Licking his lips, he stares up at JJ, who slumps down heavily right next to him.

"Don't fucking try to take my dad on."

"He hurt you, bro. I wasn't gonna—"

"He's done that so many times, JB. He's … fuck. He coulda killed you."

"Coulda killed you, too. How's that better?"

JJ lifts his head a little, just enough so John B can see him roll his eyes.

"You're an idiot with a hero complex, you know that?"

John B shrugs, then grimaces. Shooting JJ a sideways glance, he debates what to say. How much are either of them going to acknowledge about what just happened? JJ won't want to talk about it, he's pretty sure of that. But …

"And you're just an idiot. Why the fuck are you even going back to him anymore? Just stay at the Château from now on, okay?"

"It's not so easy, man …" JJ sighs. His weight is growing heavier against John B's side, but he's not going to complain. Besides, someone else's touch feels kinda fucking nice right about now. _(Shhhh.)_

"It fucking is, though, JJ. That guy's an abusive asshole."

"He's my dad, okay?"

"Fuck that! What kind of dad does that to their kid on a regular basis. And now that you're hurt so fucking bad. You could have died yesterday. But he didn't care. Look at you, JJ. Your arm—"

"At least _my_ dad showed up!"

Ouch. John B scowls at JJ, a lump forming in his throat that only grows when JJ's eyes fill with tears and he mutters, "Fuck, John B, I'm … I'm sorry ..."

When JJ starts crying for real, John B feels a pang and wraps an arm around him, careful not to touch his injured shoulder and arm (or what's left of it. He tries not to shudder at the thought.)

"'S okay, man. 'S okay …"

"Nothing's fucking okay. Fuck." JJ wipes his arm over his face, leaving it there as if he can't face John B.

And what can he tell his best friend? Nothing. JJ's right, after all. Nothing's okay. He doesn't even know when it was the last time that anything was even remotely okay in either of their lives.

"Fuck, he got you good, too." JJ nods at John B's wrapped up leg, where fresh blood is seeping through. He grimaces. "See, and that's why you don't fight back. You don't fight back, John B, coz you can't. He's worse than a fucking shark. He's worse … he's …"

"JJ."

"Fuck. Why can't I fucking stop loving him, though, huh? I'm such a stupid stupid idiot. Why can't he—"

JJ breaks off, violent sobs rattling him so much that he winces out in pain, and John B doesn't know what to do other than tighten his hold on him a little, pulling JJ's head against his shoulder, holding him there since he can't hold him any other way. But it seems to be enough.

They sit like that, JJ leaning heavier and heavier against him, until finally someone shows up, seconds later, or maybe minutes. (Time is a weird construct.) A startled nurse strolls on, shock evident on her face when she sees the two of them huddled together, Luke Maybank lying before them, blood seeping out from a large gash in his head.

"We need help in room 202!" she hollers into the hallway before she rushes toward them, and John B feels JJ back into him even more as if trying to hide away from the woman.

"Oh, you poor boys," she whispers, crouching before them, and John B doesn't even realize JJ's clutching his arm until the nurse tries to gently pry it away and JJ flinches violently. "Okay," she says, giving up for now, instead just holding out a wad of gauze. "Press that against your arm," she tells John B, indicating the spot where he tore out the IV earlier, and he just stares at her, unable to move, unable to let go of JJ. The nurse merely nods, her smile sad. "It's alright," she says. "It's alright. You're both gonna be alright."

He's not so fucking sure.

* * *

…

Kie runs into Pope right as he's about to turn the corner toward JJ's and John B's room, and she calls out to him, waving when he looks at her.

"Hey," she says, the small smile on his face making her smile, too, even though this place really doesn't make her feel like it. "Can't believe you're here before school, too."

"Yeah, well. Pogues for Lyfe. That means we gotta make sure JJ and JB stick around, right?"

A cold creeps up her arms and legs, and she clutches Pope's hand, unaware of the effect it has on him.

"You think they're in the clear, though? What that … to thing did to them, was so awful." She swallows, averting her gaze when she sees her pain and worry reflected in his eyes.

"I know. Looked pretty bad. And now that JJ lost his arm … The doc said he was stable though, right? That he'd recover."

"Yeah … I still can't believe they had to amputate. Guess John B got lucky he didn't lose any limbs." She almost makes herself gag at the memory of JJ's arm, then John B's leg, which subjectively didn't look much better. But what does she know?

She shakes her head, slightly dazed.

"Come on," Pope cajoles. "Time to go …"

His voice fizzles out when they stop in front of the open door to their best friends' room, and Kie's hand flies to her mouth at the scene in front of them.

There, sitting in front of one of the beds, are JJ and John B, the latter holding the former pressed against him. JJ's shoulders are moving as if he's crying, his face buried against John B's shoulder, and John B … is staring ahead way too vacantly.

"What happened," it escapes her when her gaze falls on the figure of a man on the floor, a nurse bent over him, tending to a wound on the side of his head. "JJ? John B?"

She looks from them to Pope, who's rushing past her and into the room. Then, before either of them have a chance to get to their friends, a horde of people in scrubs hurry past them and into the room.

"You need to wait outside," someone tells her and Pope, a male nurse built like a tank, who firmly shoves them out the door. But Kie isn't going to accept that.

Was that JJ's dad on the floor? Oh god …

The boys both looked positively shaken. Someone needs to be there for them. They need their friends, their … family, the Pogues.

Trying to peek over the strong man's shoulders as he keeps holding her back, she pushes against him, until Pope holds her back.

"Kie, let them do their work."

"They need us, don't you see that? They need a friendly face!"

"I know. But … we don't know what happened. They probably need medical attention first. We'll … we won't be going anywhere, okay? We'll just wait. Right here."

Always so logical. Kie makes a face. But he's right.

"That's JJ's dad on the floor, isn't it?" she asks, deflating a bit as she finally lets go of the man who's still blocking their way. Her voice is too shaky. When she gazes up at Pope, he gives her a dark look, then nods.

"Wonder what happened. Whatever it is, it didn't look good …"

No ...


	5. Yucatan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JJ has a first chat with his DCS worker. John B has a brief freak out, so does JJ. Heyward has a moment, Pope is pining for Kie, and Nurse Rachel has to change JJ's dressings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there. I apologize for the long wait. Hopefully, some of you will still want to continue reading this and enjoy it a bit.
> 
> There should be one or maybe two more chapters after this one. Hopefully the wait won't be so long next time.
> 
> I'm trying to do too many things at one. lol
> 
> Trying to work on an original fic at the same time isn't helping either. lol. 
> 
> Anyways. Here goes ...

…

The voice is talking to him. JJ can hear it. A woman's voice, droning on about something, and she's addressing him.

"JJ?"

He keeps his gaze averted. Maybe, if he ignores it all for long enough, it'll go away.

"It's okay, you don't need to talk to me right now. I know this must have been a lot for you. But I want you to know that you won't have to go back to your father, okay? Emergency foster care might sound scary to you, but I promise you it'll be okay. We have—"

"No."

He wants to hold his hands over his ears—a childish urge and one he can't follow because he only has one fucking hand left—so instead, he shakes his head and finally looks at the woman sitting in a chair next to his bed.

Her trimmed eyebrows are raised high, her lips pursed together as she tries to hide how flustered his angry tone made her.

"JJ …"

"I'm not gonna live with some fucking foster family on the mainland, okay, Diane? So fucking leave me alone."

Much to his surprise, Diane actually gets to her feet, slowly, grabbing the large purse she had sat down on the floor beside her. JJ shoots a glance past her at where John B is leaning back against his pillows, shrugging over at him. He realizes they haven't even talked much about what happened with his dad, what happened after ( _shhhh, maybe if he doesn't think about it, it'll go away_ , _the breakdown, the tears, everything …_ ) and maybe that's weird, too. But he just doesn't know how to talk about it.

"Let's talk about this more tomorrow. You need rest."

Fucking right, Diane. He grins at John B briefly, then focuses on his appointed DCS-worker. Pressing his lips together, he scowls at her.

"Not gonna change my mind tomorrow."

Her expression softens, her smile nowhere near as warm and kind as that of nurse Rachel, though. In Diane's, he can detect a hint of condescension he's never seen in Rachel's. But it's how every other grown-up seems to smile, too ...

"That's not up to you, JJ," Diane continues, unperturbed. "The state took over guardianship from your father for the time being, and it's up to us where you'll go, just like it's up to us now to take care of your medical bills. You might want to keep that in mind."

Fuck.

"You—" His mouth curls into a snarl, but before he can get another word out, John B calls his name, then shakes his head, imploring him without words to let it rest for now.

JJ is tired. Maybe he should listen to his best friend. Arguing with Diane isn't going to do anything. After all, he just saw how that went for John B with Cheryl. (Fucking nowhere.)

This is not going to go away, is it?

Shit, he doesn't want to think about any of this. He doesn't even want to be here. Maybe he could run away somewhere. (Where, though? Yucatan? With one hand and crippling pain in his side that makes it impossible to get up out of bed without wheezing?)

His dad screwed everything up again. Now everyone knows what JJ's been going through and it's only made it worse. He doesn't want to live with some strangers, off the island. He doesn't want to leave the OBX, and his friends, and his life, and …

He tries to take a deep breath, hissing when that hurts his side. Diane shoots him a genuinely concerned glance, then walks toward the door anyways. Pausing right before he thinks he can finally relax, she turns around, holding the door with one manicured hand.

"I'll be back tomorrow, JJ. You'll see, this is good for you, okay? I'm sorry you've had to go through this for so long. But it's over now, alright? It's over."

"Oh yeah, Diane? And what exactly is 'over' about it, huh? My arm and hand gonna be there again tomorrow? My dad not gonna wanna kill me? You're not gonna take me away to some fucking place I don't wanna be?"

"JJ …"

"Fuck you, Diane. You have no fucking clue how to fix any of this, so just … leave me the hell alone."

She clicks her tongue. Lowering her head, she taps the door once.

"Believe it or not, I've had worse and harder cases than yours. You may have given up on yourself, but I haven't. I won't. I'll see you tomorrow. Now get some sleep."

Fuck. He wants her to grow angry with him, wants some strong reaction. He _needs_ it. But Diane just leaves without another word. The moment is fucking anticlimactic, and the fact that not even John B quips about any of it leaves JJ feeling weirdly stranded.

"'Worse and harder,' huh?" he mutters, glancing over to John B. "Think she was talking about sex?"

"Bro. I do _not_ wanna think about any of those DCS bitches in that way."

Ah, that feels better. John B's disgusted look makes him chuckle. And though his ribs instantly punish him for that, he doesn't mind, can't stop laughing, until he has to hold his side and wheeze.

For a while, he gets to remain in this bubble of shared laughter, but the longer he laughs, the more his side feels aggravated. And when his wheezing intensifies, John B's expression turns into one of such badly veiled concern that JJ feels guilty.

"You're scaring me man. Can you breathe?"

"Fine," he manages, clamping an arm around his middle as he's trying to grin over at John B. But it doesn't feel sincere. Because it fucking isn't, that's why. Breathing isn't easy, but that's not even the worst …

"JJ …"

"Said I'm fine, John B." He stares over, daring his friend to continue. A new feeling is stirring in him, ugly and cruel: the urge to lash out verbally, to have a reason to yell at his best friend to mind his own business and shut the fuck up!

"What're you gonna do?" John B asks next, the non-sequitur throwing JJ off. He relaxes his hand that he must have clenched into a fist at some point.

"What?"

Working on taking slower breaths, he manages to calm himself down before the stupid alarm at his side can go off and he's glad when it seems to work.

"With DCS on your back ..."

Oh.

"Dunno, man. Maybe what you've been doing?" He grins again, but John B shakes his head, looking way too sad.

"You can't do that, JJ. Your dad, man …"

"I know, okay? I know he's an asshole. He isn't always this bad, though. Usually he leaves me alone, you know that. And I get to hang at the Château with you and do my own thing. If they …" He ruffles his own hair, grabbing a fist of it, ready to tear it out. Unable to look at John B, he stares hard at his sheets, the seconds ticking by. Their silence is laden like it's never been before, and he doesn't know how to make that go away either.

"Well, Yucatan's probably our only option now, then."

The mirth in John B's tone makes him look up after all, half a smile spreading across his face. But the expression is wavering, his new companion—the fucking lump the size of a boulder—lodging in his throat again when he replies, "Yeah. Yucatan, baby …"

* * *

…

Heyward tells himself he's only here to pick up his son, but when he overhears two nurses talking about the two boys who got mauled by a shark, he stops in his tracks, suddenly rooted to the spot. Because what he hears is heartbreaking.

"At least DCS is finally getting that kid out. What that man did to him, and after what he's been through."

"I know. Poor boy just lost his arm and almost his life and still that father went for him _and_ his friend. Can't blame him for knocking his old man out. Guy had it coming. I don't wanna know how much the kid has been through in the past."

"Did you hear the Sheriff? She was amazing. Pretended the dad must have just fallen on his own. Kid's been through enough …"

Heyward swallows. That sure sounds like Luke Maybank. He's abhorred the man since they were both kids themselves and it's never gotten better. So, whatever went down, it's good Pope's friend JJ is getting out.

But.

How did he not see it? Heyward prides himself in knowing people, inside and out. He's always had a good radar, and yet he's not caught on to the abuse JJ must have suffered. Sure, he knew Luke is a drunk deadbeat, always high on something. He knew the man couldn't be a great dad. But somewhere along the way, Heyward has grown too comfortable with accepting that. Just like he's accepted that his boy's other friend also has a mostly absent parent. It's always been like that and he had stopped caring.

He shouldn't have done that. He's slept on the whole damn situation. Like everyone else. And the poor kid suffered for it. He doesn't want to think what JJ's been through.

With a sigh, he brings himself back in gear and waltzes toward the waiting area, where he expects to pick up his son. Pope isn't there yet, though, and a quick check of the time tells him they're already running late. So he puffs out air and makes his way over to the boys' room.

The door is open a sliver, enough for him to see Pope and Kiara sitting on the other two boys' beds, Kiara perched right next to JJ, her arm casually resting on his, while Pope sits across, next to John B, legs dangling off the side.

He's tossing something at JJ—or maybe Kiara, it's hard to tell—and Heyward realizes it's one of those puffed pea snacks that he hates with a passion because they taste stale and leave crumbs all over the house.

He's about to knock against the door-frame and tell Pope off for tossing that stupid snack-piece when he hears JJ's light laughter and he deflates. Because the sound is so carefree and full of genuine delight that he's sure he's never heard the kid laugh like that. Sure, JJ is a clown, always joking, always with a big grin on his face. But something about that has always seemed insincere to him before. Not now. It's as if this battered kid is finally having a genuinely good time with his friends, despite everything he's been through, and who is he to ruin that moment.

Heyward checks the time again, grimacing to himself. Pope will be late for school if they don't get going. He peaks into the room again, hears the four friends chuckle and tease each other. Kie is snuggling up more with JJ, placing a kiss on his temple that makes him shoot her a look Heyward knows all too well. His own son has had that exact same expression way too often. He's not sure Kiara is aware of the effect she has on these three boys, and it's none of his business. It makes him smile to himself, though. These poor fools. They got no idea.

With a sigh, he peeks at his watch yet again, debating with himself. When he looks back into the room, he sees John B sitting upright in bed, shoving Pope light-heartedly, and Pope shoves him right back. The Routledge kid looks ready for sleep, dark shadows around his eyes, the smile on his face growing wan, and Heyward realizes that these kids will soon find their own time to end their little meeting, no need for him to barge in and ruin the fun prematurely.

God knows these four deserve a break.

* * *

…

Pope notices it first—how JJ is sinking in on himself, eyelids starting to flutter—and he turns to Kie, motioning with a jerk of the head so she'll understand.

"Anyways," he says out loud, looking from JJ and Kie to John B, who's sunk back against his pillows, that vacancy creeping back into his gaze that makes a shiver run down Pope's spine. "We should probably get going. My dad said he'd drop me off at school and if I'm late—"

"Ooooh, wouldn't wanna get on your old man's bad side now, would we?" JJ chirps, momentarily more awake again. But it's short-lived. Pope barely has time to roll his eyes before JJ's attention is already drifting elsewhere again, his hand clamped around Kie's. Gently, she pries it off.

"My mom's gonna throw a fit, too, if I'm late. Plus, you two need some rest."

"Nah, we're good, right John B? No rest for the wicked ..."

Pope grinds his teeth together, trying his best to stifle the urge to call JJ out on it. They should talk more about what happened, he thinks, but the look Kie shoots him silences him before he's completely made up his mind on what to say. So he swallows it down, just gives a brief nod.

"Alright. I'll try and drop by after school."

"Don't you dare bring homework. There's gotta be something good about being at the hospital."

Pope rolls his eyes at JJ, unable to suppress a smile.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. See you guys later."

With slow movements, Kie disentangles herself from JJ and hops out of his bed. Pope tries not to stare when she kisses his friend's cheek, then turns to the other bed and does the same with John B.

How effortlessly she does this, going from one boy to the next, neither of them seeming to think anything of it when all he can do is try not to blush. What would he give to feel those lips against his cheek, too …

Closing his eyes, he grimaces, then turns to the door, ready to leave before he makes a fool of himself. His gaze meets his dad's, and his grimace turns into an awkward grin. How long has his old man been standing there? Watching him?

"Oh, hey dad."

"Time to leave. It's getting late."

"Hi Mr. Heyward, fancy seeing you here," JJ chirps, and to his dad's credit, he remains stoic as usual, behaving completely normal—exactly what JJ and John B need right now.

"Yeah yeah. You boys try and stay out of trouble or I can't have Pope come back here."

"Dad," he whines, but they all know he's just playing along.

"Come now. School ain't waiting."

"Bye, guys."

"Later."

Their goodbye is fast, uneventful, and yet Pope can't shake a weird feeling. Like he shouldn't leave his friends alone.

"Think they'll be okay?" Kie mutters as she follows him out, and he looks at her, wondering again whether she can read his mind.

"I hope so …"

"Kiara. Your parents gonna pick you up or you need a ride?"

"I'm fine, Mr. Heyward. Thanks. See you at school, Pope."

He waves at her with a half-hearted gesture, following her a little too long with his gaze when she turns a corner.

When his dad's hand crashes down on his shoulder, he makes a face, almost buckling under the weight. Neither of them says anything, but the sudden compassion in his father's eyes makes Pope cringe, then sigh in resignation. His old man knows, doesn't he? About Pope's feelings for Kie.

"You don't have to say it," he mutters. "I know she doesn't like me like that."

His dad remains quiet and Pope is grateful for that.

"Anyways. Thanks for picking me up."

"Gotta get a move on now, though," his dad says, then stops in his tracks. Pope frowns at him.

"Dad?"

"JJ doing okay?"

"Uh … Not really, no. But you know JJ."

"Right. Right …" His dad resumes walking, but something about the way he shuffles along makes Pope's brow remain in a deep crease.

"And John B? These boys got anyone looking out for them?"

"Well, um, DCS has been on John B's case for a while. But he said his uncle is gonna be back soon. JJ … dad, I didn't know how bad it was for him, I …"

Pope grabs the rim of his hat, grimacing. To think what JJ has been going through and he didn't know. How did he not know about this? Sure, everyone was aware that Luke Maybank is a shitty dad and sometimes got too physical. But this … He swallows hard, unable to look anywhere but at the ground.

"I know, son. It ain't right. None of this. It's good DCS is aware now."

"Yeah … I mean, it's just, JJ doesn't have anyone, so—"

"What do you mean? They gonna take him away?"

"Looks like it, yeah. Foster families are all on the mainland, apparently. JJ's already said he's not going."

"That ain't right. They can't do that to the boy."

His dad continues on mumbling under his breath, growing oddly agitated. Pope's not sure he's ever seen him that way and somehow, it makes a weird ripple cross his skin.

"Just ain't right. 'S gotta be a better way," his dad keeps on mumbling as he picks up his pace, and Pope shoots him sideways glances as they make their way to the car.

His dad is right, of course. It ain't right. But nothing seems right anymore, and what can they do about any of it? Nothing.

* * *

…

* * *

...

The shark comes back at night. It finds its way into John B's mind, turning his dreams into nightmares, and there's nowhere for him to escape this time.

Grinding his teeth, clenching his hands into tight fists, he battles the animal over and over again. But it always ends in a quite literal bloodbath—and with JJ's death.

Gasping for air, he'll wake up at all hours of the night, the pain in his leg almost welcome since it helps take his mind off of the awful images in his head.

"Bro, you good?"

Running his hands over his face, which is damp with cold sweat, he grunts out something he hopes sounds like an affirmation. And since the one asking is JJ, who knows better than to ask too much, he's let off the hook thankfully quickly. At least most of the time.

"You look like shit, John B."

"Says the right guy. Have you seen yourself lately? And I don't mean the missing arm." The second the words are out, John B wishes he could take them back. Lifting his arms, he buries his hands in his hair to hide his face.

But JJ … JJ chokes on a startled chuckle before bursting into a full-blown laugh-attack. Flustered and a little surprised, John B needs a moment, but soon chimes in despite himself and they both end up laughing like maniacs at 3 in the fucking morning, laughing so hard that eventually a nurse steps in and tells them to turn it down.

Once she's out the door again, they've sobered enough to be quiet again, and John B half-wishes they could just go back to laughing some more. But the shark is back in his head, doing its rounds, and even awake he can't seem to shake off the bad thoughts.

His leg still hurts so much he sometimes can't breathe properly. He can't walk unaided. JJ's arm is still gone. Soon, JJ will be gone, too, taken away and off the island by DCS. If Uncle T doesn't show back up soon, though, John B's fate won't look much different.

Everyone is always leaving.

"John B?"

Startling, he looks over to JJ, surprised to see a dark expression on his best friend's face.

"Sorry, what?"

"Yucatan, man."

Scoffing, he sweeps a hand through his hair.

"Yeah ..."

The fact that JJ doesn't say anything else, just gives him that look, is more telling than anything, and John B lets his head drop against his pillow as he stares up at the ceiling for a long time.

Yucatan.

* * *

…

JJ doesn't like it when John B gets all stuck in his head, acting off and like he's somewhere else, brooding and disconnected. It scares him, not that he'd ever admit it.

But they can't both be mentally unstable.

Shit.

Somehow, they manage it through the night anyways. Or, JJ wakes up and John B is still there, so he figures they made it. John B's eyes are closed, but his face looks so drawn, dark shadows making him look hollow, that JJ is sure his best friend hasn't been asleep for long.

Between the strong painkillers JJ gets and whatever else they're giving him to help him sleep, he wasn't there for John B during the night, and somehow that feels so wrong that his stomach churns up.

"Good morning, sweetie."

Nurse Rachel … He suppresses an eye-roll when she shuffles closer to him, pushing a cart with her.

"Is it?" he asks, his sarcasm showing, but her answer surprises him.

"Well, arguably not since you poor boys are still at the hospital and this next part is admittedly not going to be much fun. But. You're still alive, and that at least makes me happy."

A weird fuzzy feeling rolls over him. He doesn't know how to take this woman and the things she says and how that makes him feel. She's so … different than most grown-ups he's known.

"I'm going to have to change your dressings now, okay?"

So that's what's not going to be fun … JJ sucks in a breath and tries to grin a nonchalant grin up at Nurse Rachel.

"Knock yourself out."

Her eyebrows arch up, giving her a no-nonsense look and he's ready to hear her call him out for fake bravery or some such crap, but then her features morph into a smile again and she focuses on her cart.

"I'll be as gentle as I can. Let me know if you need a break."

"Psh," he makes, and Rachel gives him a sympathetic pat on his good shoulder that makes him tense up.

He's in for a bad time, isn't he?

Sure enough, as soon as she starts her work, JJ realizes that she wasn't lying. The next few minutes are awful. No, awful is an understatement. JJ has to clench his jaw, trying to work through wave after wave of pain as Rachel begins to take the dressings off his wounds, looking up at his face sporadically. For some reason, he is glad that it's her, and not one of the younger, prettier nurses. At least with Rachel, he doesn't feel the need to try and flirt, or act all tough as with some of the others, and that's a damn good thing, because he's on the verge of losing it, fearing he might start bawling like a child any second.

It just hurts so fucking much.

"You hanging in there, sweetie?" Rachel asks, and he forces himself to smile at her before turning his head away so that she won't see his eyes starting to well up, and he won't have to see his shoulder and what's left of his arm.

How is he ever going to be able to surf again? He's not even sure he'll ever go out into the water again. Hell, he won't even be able to hold anything that requires two hands. What about driving a car? Swallowing a couple of times in quick succession, he tries to breathe around the lump in his throat, breathe through the pain, but it's not working. It's not fucking working.

"Almost done, JJ," Rachel soothes, and the fact she uses his name rather than her trademark "sweetie" seems to be another clue that he's not too great at keeping his cool. She can see right through him. "Deep slow breaths."

Clenching his jaw even harder, he tries to do that. But the pain's gotten so overwhelming that he's beginning to hyperventilate.

"JJ?"

Oh, great, now John B has woken up and gets to witness his moment of weakness, too? JJ shoots him an unsteady glance, trying to put some conviction into his lopsided grin. But John B looks positively panic-stricken, his expression all too reminiscent of that morning on the water that JJ finds himself hyperventilating only more.

"What the fuck are you doing to him?"

"I'm trying to wrap his wounds, kiddo. —JJ, sweetie, it's almost over. I wish I could ease the pain, but unfortunately that's not possible. I've already upped the morphine, though. You should feel its effects as soon as I'm done."

"Fuck," he groans out, or maybe he's just thinking he's saying it, because he can't even breathe, so talking is kinda out of the question. He really fucking needs this to be over.

"JJ."

"Mr. Routledge, you need to stay put. You're not helping."

"You're fucking torturing him!"

The jumble of voices is hazy like his vision, but he can still make out the note of despair in John B's tone, and it brings him right back.

_He's swimming, kicking water, the world awhirl around him and he can't fucking breathe …_

_..._

"And, all done." Rachel rubs his good arm, jolting him out of his memory. When he doesn't reply with his usual attempt at light banter, however, she leans in a bit, stroking his cheek. "You look a bit ashen, sweetie."

"I'm fine," he says, his voice clipped, but she lets it go, smiling down at him.

"If I'm not mistaken, your friends are waiting outside to see you. You think you can handle visitors yet, or should I stall a bit?"

It must be Kie and Pope. The two of them haven't missed a day yet … A small smile appears on his face. "Nah. I'm good."

She nods at him while cleaning up and he glances over at John B, whose chest is moving up and down way too fast, his hands in fists, and JJ knows all too well what he must be feeling.

Neither of them is fucking good.

When Rachel is done, she pushes her cart in gear, but stops again after a brief glance around the room.

"We'll give you boys five minutes," she says with a wink, then vanishes out the door.

JJ looks over at John B, managing a half-smile, too exhausted to lift his head off the pillow. At least the extra dose of morphine is beginning to kick in. But still the pain is too strong, only the edge taken off, and he's grateful for those extra five minutes, grateful, too, that John B doesn't comment, doesn't say a single word. He guesses they both can use a bit more time to pull themselves together.


End file.
